


Stone Essence

by Dragonsquill (dragonsquill)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Did I Mention Crack?, Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1843807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill/pseuds/Dragonsquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an utterly reasonable story in which Fili discovers Stone Essence, a fantastic and bad-butt dwarf shampoo, shortly before the Quest for Erebor begins. And it changes everyone’s lives forever and ever.  Amen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane/gifts), [kopperblaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopperblaze/gifts).



> [Blanket Permission Statement](http://dragonsquill.tumblr.com/permission)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> This story is completely ridiculous.
> 
> Completely. Ridiculous.
> 
> I love it.

It all started the day the markets had their grand opening.

The dwarves spent ten years just clearing entrances to the mountain, and another twenty making it safe enough to walk through. Then Thorin's Hall was restored, and now the market. A huge cavern fed by natural light, lined with lamps, the market would one day be awe-inspiring, though now it was barely a quarter full. But the merchants had done well, hanging bright banners, calling their wares into the echoing chamber, and that small corner of the market was filled with color and laughter. 

Thorin had, for his part, dressed the princes in their best for the grand opening, fresh clothes and small crowns of iron and copper from the local mines. Kíli’s kept sliding around (Fíli was forever fussing it back into place), but Fíli’s stayed just so and was extremely attractive (of course, so frustrating).

Kili could never have suspected that such an auspicious occasion would bring such wrath and ruin upon himself and his precious brother (while, admittedly, simultaneously opening the path to Middle Earth’s salvation).

Kili bought a number of trinkets, smiling and laughing with the merchants, showing support as he'd been ordered. Thorin had certainly never shoved coins in his hands before. It was an interesting sensation he wouldn’t mind repeating.

Fili made only one purchase.

A sensible purchase.

He purchased shampoo.

The vendor was a smiling, friendly soul from the Blue Mountains who had done a great deal of traveling in her life (albeit in the guise of a male). She assured Fili that "shampoo" - a new concept that Kili was slightly suspicious of, why would you need _special soap_ just for your hair? - would make his hair more manageable and keep it clean longer. Fili threw a teasing grin Kili's way as he paid for the stuff, and Kili rolled his eyes.

He was not obsessed with Fili's hair.

He just...saw taking care of it as a...personal duty.

That's all.

No reason to act smug about it.

Kili grabbed the bottle and laughed when he saw the name etched in the dark blue glass. "Stone Essence? Really?"

Fili shrugged. "She's new to the area and could use the business." He took the bottle back and slid it into his bag. "Supposedly it has a 'subtle aroma of forge fire and metal' that will drive the ladies wild."  
Kili snorted. Fili smirked. "I guess we'll see what it effect it has on obnoxious brothers."

\-------

Thorin was in a mood. That much was clear from the way he slammed the heavy wooden door open, banging it against the stone wall as he stomped in, muttering to himself.

Kíli’s uncle was many things, but subtle was not one of them.

Kíli missed all this, though, because he was leaning against the archway leading into the bathroom, feeling . . . conflicted.

“Kíli!” Thorin bellowed. “Fíli!”

He was answered by a low moan that sent a little spark of arousal up Kíli’s back. “Sweet Mahal,” Kíli heard his uncle mutter, “no uncle should have to listen to that. It’s the _middle of the afternoon_!”

More stomping, until he was just outside the bedroom door. “FÍLI! KÍLI!”

Kíli shifted against his bit of stone wall. “Uncle,” he said quietly. 

Thorin spun to see Kíli, fully dressed. His dark brows drew together in obvious confusion. “You look . . .” his voice rumbled off as he searched for _feeling words._ Never a strength of their uncle. “Depressed.”

Kíli shrugged as another low, pleased sound rumbled through the archway. He supposed he did. When he’d last seen himself in the polished mirror in their main living space, even his hair, a bit on the damp side, looked thoroughly down on life. 

Thorin frowned. “You’re not . . . with your brother?”

Kíli shook his head. The moans cut off for a moment. 

Thorin’s face twisted with a sudden flare of fury. “Then who is?!” he demanded. “I’ll cut his beard off!” Thorin had made Fíli promise when he came to his uncle to announce his love for Kíli that he would do right by his little brother, would marry him when they were old enough, and would certainly never cheat on him. When Fíli reenacted the conversation for Kíli later, there had been several knives involved, and a laughable imitation of the fierce Durin eyebrows (Fili was handsome and bright, but he utterly failed at the eyebrows, poor lamb). 

Kíli realized this could get dangerous if he didn’t come clean.

….Come clean.

An unfortunate choice of words. 

“No one,” Kíli said, and he felt his mouth twist with confusion. “He’s just. In there by himself. With the shampoo.”

Thorin’s anger abated somewhat. “With the what?” he snapped. 

\-----

Sweet Mahal.

Sweet Mahal’s lustrous _ball hairs._

Fíli had lived 81 years of his life in blissful ignorance of shampoo.

They were wasted years.

(Except the time with Kíli. Time with Kíli was never wasted, even when he was being an obnoxious, overly-tall, hyperactive brat.)

(He should consider calling Kíli in on this.)

(. . . Not this time. He didn’t think he could take it. Kíli’s hand in his hair already _did_ things to him.)

(Which Kíli knew. And took shameless advantage of.)

(But _next_ time. Oh. Yes.)

It had never occurred to Fíli that a person could need some kind of special soap for his _hair_. But every stroke of his fingers over his scalp sent shivers down his spine. Thick lather kissed his ears and ran down his cheeks and over his beard, and his hands just _slid_ all over the place. He could _feel_ it getting clean. Down to the roots, where it always felt a bit oily and hung lank like Thorin’s.

This was nothing like the rough suds lye soap brought on. This was _silk_.

He moaned low in his chest and dug his fingers in just behind his ears. His nails scratched into his scalp as suds poured over his knuckles.

And then, regretfully, he dunked down into the water to rinse it off.

(It really did smell like hot metal.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is responsible for this madness?  
> Stone Essence is the result of an insane Livestream, in which a group of (mostly) complete strangers drooled over the lovely art of hvit-ravn and went completely insane. It should be noted that hvit-ravn herself, though providing the venue, is actually innocent of wrongdoing. The culprits are DragonsQuill, Linane, and kopperblaze (all available on Ao3, you should check Linane and kopperblaze out for their delicious angst), jaegerorangecat, sirmacbethbeth, and kilipeppu (tumblr).
> 
> After the original concept degenerated into dwarven disco,* I threatened to actually write it.
> 
> …And then I did.
> 
> *no dwarven disco will exist in this story, sorry to disappoint


	2. Chapter 2

Fíli’s hair changed. 

Where before it had hung around his face much as Thorin’s did, in gentle sort of depressed waves, now it rose from his forehead and cascaded down his back and over his shoulders. Where before it _might_ have been described as a sort of honey-color (though more likely as a dirty blond), it now captured what little light could be found deep in the halls of the mountain and shone back like molten gold. And where it had always been more manageable than Kíli’s ( _anything_ was more manageable than Kíli’s), now it flowed and slid over Kíli’s knuckles as he plaited it, clinging coquettishly to his callouses before slipping effortlessly into braids.

Kíli.

Didn’t. Quite know what to make of it.

Fíli certainly seemed to like it. He bought two more full bottles and several small samples on the next market day, and, much to the delight of Reela the merchant, a crowd of dwarves followed in his wake. It turned out there were other scents: Warrior Musk, Forge Fresh, Roasted Venison. Fíli tried them all, and Kíli found himself called upon as a strange sort of judge in the ongoing competition for Best Shampoo Scent. He’d never really imagined his brother shoving a braid under his nose and demanding, “Smell!” And Fíli didn’t accept a “good” or “bad,” he expected a fully articulated opinion on the relative merits of, say, Roasted Venison versus Kíli’s take on Forge Fresh (Roasted Venison smelled good but made Kíli wake up hungry in the middle of the night; Forge Fresh had a little too much clean sweat and not enough smoke). 

Kíli decided he liked Hot Metal best. But he was probably biased, since Fíli was wearing it the time he escaped a meeting with Thorin and his advisors, hunted his brother down at the archery range, tugged him into a storage closet, pinned Kíli to the wall and-

Anyway.

Fíli’s expectation that Kíli would sniff his hair was strange, but not a serious problem. The issue which did arise was this: Kíli wasn’t the only one who appreciated Fíli’s new look. 

Certainly Fíli wasn’t in the same awkward-gangly-beardless-skinny category as Kíli, but he’d never had this much attention before. Dwarves _whispered_ behind him. They followed in Fíli’s wake. They sent little anonymous gifts. Fíli didn’t accept any of them, of course, because true love and all that, but still. Kíli had always appreciated that Fíli was devilishly handsome, but he wasn’t so sure he liked everyone else suddenly knowing it as well. 

Besides, it was hardly fair to the rest of the too-tall, too-thin, too-delicately featured Line of Durin for Fíli to swagger around looking so handsome all the time just because their father had decided to pass his looks on exclusively to his elder son.

And worst of all, the shampoo did _nothing_ for Kíli.

(Well. The nights in the bath where they tried it had . . . other perks, because it was all rather . . . slippery . . . and Fíli was always putty in his hands when there was a scalp massage involved, and had he mentioned that it was slippery? - but it didn’t help his _hair_. His hair was the same tangled mass it always was. In fact, it was _worse_ , because the softer it became the faster it tangled. So he finally gave up on it and, to Fíli’s clear disappointment, rededicated himself to soap.)

When Thorin decided they were both coming along on the quest for Erebor, Kíli was almost relieved. He could have Fíli to himself for a while, get used to all these changes. Or maybe-

Maybe he could see that the shampoo stayed at home.

Because he had seen Fíli pack it. His brother had carefully wrapped two glass bottles in bandages to reinforce them, and then tucked them in with his spare shirt. He didn’t appear to trust them to his saddlebag, because he put them in his own backpack, the one Thorin said was _absolutely only for the essentials._

Kíli decided it would actually be doing Fíli a _favor_ if he removed the bottles. What if they shattered? It could ruin everything in the bag, and Fíli had things like his flint in there. Not to mention he’d never hear the end of it from Thorin. No one wanted to be stuck miles from home with Thorin and his Disapproving Disappointment Eyebrows. 

Yes. It would be a _service_ to his beloved and future king if he took the shampoo out of Fíli’s bag.

So he did.

Only.

Fíli noticed.

Less than a mile from the mountain, Fíli drew his pony to a halt and swung the bag around in front of him. 

“What is it?” Thorin asked irritably. “You were supposed to check your tack this morning.”

“I _did_ ,” Fíli insisted (and he had, because Kíli had only nicked the stuff afterward, he was no amateur - well, he was, really, the only professional he actually knew personally was his friend Ori's older brother Nori, and he hadn't exactly asked for tips), “but something’s off.” He dug down, leaning forward until his nose almost touched the waterproofed leather (tooled by Kíli’s own hand, thank you, another reason not to let it get ruined) and his arm disappeared to the elbow. He muttered a bit under his breath. 

Kíli gazed up at the sky, hoping he looked innocent. Dwalin grunted that it couldn’t be anything _too_ important so just let it be, Balin said it was always good to be careful, and Fíli cried, “My shampoo bottles!”

Thorin growled. “Leave them!”

“It’ll only take a moment-”

“Leave them! I won’t have us late for your _soap_!” (Thorin had never fully recovered from that first day of Fíli-in-the-bath and generally avoided all conversation about the shampoo. He wouldn’t even go near the merchant’s stand in the hall.)

Fíli, obedient Fíli, who always wanted to impress their uncle and prove a worthy heir, who only acted the little shit he was behind Thorin’s back, shook his head firmly and said, “I’ll catch you up!”

And he turned his pony’s head in a flair of silver, black (the pony), and golden (Fíli) manes, and galloped back to the mountain.

Thorin eyed Kíli.

Kíli sputtered, “I don’t understand it either!” in an excellent combination of complete lie and honest truth.

Thorin muttered something rude to Dwalin, turned his own pony, and trudged on toward the Shire.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn’t easy staying clean on the road. They only passed streams occasionally, and Thorin pushed them so hard that washing up usually consisted of wiping hands and faces. But they did have a few opportunities to properly bathe. Fíli took advantage of each one with fervor and determination, sudsing up his hair and scratching down to the roots and getting it as clean as dwarvishly possible.

(He did not notice that he was the center of a great deal of attention when he did this, suds sliding over his shoulders and down his back, nor did he notice that Kíli finally just elected to stay between him and the others for the entirety of their bath time. So involved was he in the importance of hair care that he didn’t even notice when Kíli started carrying his bedroll into the streams they frequented and holding it up as a guard against curious eyeballs.)

Then the trolls happened, and orcs, and other such nastiness, which made everyone a sweaty, disgusting mess. Even their miners, who were used to the more odiferous nature of dwarves, started muttering halfway through the stone passage Gandalf had tricked them all into about _personal space_ and _keeping a proper distance_ and _don’t have to be underfoot, brother, I’ll know you’re there, I can smell you!_!

And then.

Rivendell.

Fíli had no more interest in staying with elves than any of the dwarves. He’d been very successfully raised to hate elves, and saw nothing in their behavior to change his mind. The _singing_. What was the point of all that? And why did they all wear dresses? Why was the food so bad? Where was the _meat_? How did they not pass out and roll off their ridiculous spindly bridges from lack of sustenance? And those horses. Stomping all over the place. Extremely rude.

But the elves did have one thing.

They had _baths_.

Glorious, hot baths, which the dwarves were not-so-subtly directed to the moment they arrived. 

(Not that Fíli blamed them, just this once.)

The baths were strange, each in its own little room. Apparently elves didn’t want to see other naked elves any more than dwarves did. It was a bit odd, but the water coming in was hot, and the tub wasn’t too deep, so Fíli didn’t complain. 

(Though he would have preferred Kíli being with him. He wanted to check his brother over for injuries, and Mahal knew having a room to themselves . . . well, sore and exhausted or not, he’d’ve found a use for it! Maybe later. . . . Definitely later.)

Fíli sank thankfully into the hot water, dipping down and letting his muscles soak in the heat as he rinsed through his hair. Then he pushed up to sit and reached for the side of the tub, wrapping his hands automatically around the shape of a familiar bottle. He popped the cork and-

-blanched.

The smell was _foul_. His head jerked back involuntarily and he peered into the contents. Instead of the usual reassuring grayish-blue of his shampoo, this was a bright pink. And it smelled of . . . he took a cautious sniff.

Flowers.

Honeysuckle?

He turned the bottle in his hands, feeling suddenly foolish. Of course this wasn’t his Stone Essence. That was in his saddlebag, where he’d moved it for safe keeping, back with the-

With the.

With the _ponies._

They had _lost the ponies._

And with it, his shampoo.

His heart thudded in his chest.

He scowled down at the bottle in his hands. The shape was the same, though this bottle was pearly-pink rather than deep blue. The liquid inside, despite its color, had a similar consistency.

He turned the bottle in his hands. On the side, in unnecessarily flourished letters (on HIS the letters were simple and blocky, with an attractive geometric design) were the words FOREST ESSENCE.

. . . It couldn’t be.

He knew his shampoo merchant had traveled. She told him a few stories.

But.

To _elves_?

To sell her product to _elves_?

(He refused to consider that he had, in fact, bought an elvish product himself. This way lay madness.)

She was braver than he’d given her credit for.

There was nothing else to be done.

His hair was a mess, terribly oily at the roots as it had been for years before Stone Essence had come into his life. If he wasn’t careful, he’d start looking as moody and depressed as Thorin.

He was going to have to give it a try.

. . . He only hoped the stench wouldn’t be as strong as the pleasant aroma of Hot Metal.


	4. Chapter 4

Kíli and Fíli were assigned the same room, which was just as well. Kíli would have sneaked into his brother’s room anyway. He didn’t like sleeping without sprawling all over Fíli’s long-suffering body (Fíli had been known to compare him to an entire nest of snakes, with wandering non-snakey hands and something that _could_ be compared to a snake that also sometimes wandered-).

Kíli arrived first, still warm and damp from his bath, and escorted by a friendly elf (if one took “friendly” to mean “somewhat less condescending than other elves”). The bed, he noted tiredly, was absolutely horrifying. Someone had taken the time to carve elves into it, staring out into the bedroom like a wooden audience waiting for a show. No wonder elves didn’t have children wandering around. That’d put almost anyone off any recreational bedroom activities.

Kíli took a moment to cut up a bit of the curtains and drape it over the disturbing headboard. He supposed he should feel bad for damaging the draperies (Dori would be horrified), but there was so much of them he just sort of fussed around with the way they fell until you could barely tell some of the cloth was missing. Besides, the elves had given them a creepy peeping bed first. That was no way to treat a guest in his book.

Bed now devoid of staring eyes, Kíli settled in (it was also too soft and the sheets were so…fluffy, he was half-convinced he’d drown during the night) determined to stay awake and wait for Fíli, but every muscle in his body begged for sleep. And Fíli was taking a long time. He’d show up soon and . . and . . . 

Kíli drifted off.

When he woke, it was with a familiar face-full of hair. Fíli would never admit it, but as many mornings as not found Kíli’s older brother curled against his chest, Kíli’s arm around Fíli’s waist. While there were those who would argue that being the little spoon was somehow embarrassing, Kíli couldn’t disagree more. While Fíli got a nice warm back-pillow and free hands to hog the blankets, Kíli always ended up choking on waves of honeyed hair and a half-asleep elbow. 

Not that he’d give it up for the world.

Because he wouldn’t.

Kíli took a deep breath, long accustomed to not choking on Fíli’s hair - and coughed.

And hacked.

And coughed again.

What was that _smell_?

He jerked back, wrinkling his nose in instinctive horror as he was overcome with some kind of flowery-naturey-sweetly-cloying _stink._

Fíli shifted and opened his eyes. “Kíli?” he asked, yawning.

“What is in your _hair_?” Kíli raised a defensive hand over his nose, effectively muffling his words. “Did you…did someone rub _flowers_ all over it? Did elves _attack_ you on the way here?!” 

Kíli sat up abruptly in a bid to escape the stench. As he did, Fíli’s hair slid across his face and neck in a silky-soft whisper that made Kíli’s skin crawl.

Fíli stretched lazily and sat up. “What are you on about? We could still be asleep,” he grumped.

Kíli stared.

And . . . stared some more.

And his mouth fell open in a thoroughly unattractive way.

Fíli frowned at him. “You’ll catch flies like that,” he said, reaching up and shoving a lock of hair from his eyes.

Hair.

It was.

“Your,” Kíli choked. “Fíli. Your _hair._ ”

“What about it?”

Kíli’s head swung wildly as he searched the room for –ah! A mirror! 

He grabbed his brother by the arm and dragged him violently from the bed. Fíli nearly landed on his face when he tangled in the too-soft-extra-slippery elven sheets, but Kíli wrapped both arms around him and _heaved_ , lifting his smaller brother off the ground and ignoring the furious squawk of indignation.

He plopped Fíli back on his feet in front of the mirror.

“Don’t you _dare_ pick me _up_ I am not a dwarfli-”

The words died.

Horror writ itself like black letters across Fíli’s face as he stared at the dwarf in the mirror:

A dwarf with long, slick locks hanging in straight curtains of burnished gold on either side of his head. 

“Oh, brother,” Kíli said, with a strange mix of growing horror and a wild urge to burst into laughter, “you look like an _elf._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, this bed is a straight-up dwarf boner killer, is all I have to say:  
> 


	5. Chapter 5

_Oh. By. Mahal’s. Curling. Ear hairs._

He did.

Fíli’s hair was straight. Sleek and shining, it parted at the center of his head and swung down past his shoulders without a single kink or curl. It was still a rich, deep gold, warmed with tones of brown and honey, but no one would call _this_ a proper dwarven mane. No. 

This was the hair of an _elf._

“What happened?” Kíli demanded, grabbing a silken lock and tugging on it. His fingers slid right off. He couldn’t get a _grip._ How. How.

Horrifying.

And that scent of flowers! It was everywhere!

“I just used the shampoo in the bath-”

Kíli threw his hands up. “I should have known!”

“Mine was with the ponies!” Fíli’s voice was defensive and sharp. “I _knew_ I should have had it in my pack but _no_ , you agreed with _Thorin_ that is was nonessential!" The look in Fíli's eyes was half fury and half heartbroken-betrayal. "But there was some in the bath - the bottle was the same!” Fíli was gathering handfuls of his hair, scrunching it up in his hands, twisting it around his fingers. But every time he let go, the strands just separated and the smoothed out into a seemingly solid curtain again. “Everything except the name! And the color!”

There was a wild tinge in Fíli’s eyes that was usually only there when he was about to kill something in a messy and enjoyable way.

“And the _smell,_ ” Kíli said, taking a step back with a tiny sneeze.

“Well, yes, but Stone Essence comes in other scents, too.” Fíli huffed and started gathering up all his hair, twisting it tightly together. 

“I recall. You made me sniff them all.” Kíli reached up and took the twist from Fíli’s hands, tying the hair into a sort of messy knot and pulling it tight enough that his brother yelped. (He was briefly distracted by the nape of Fíli’s neck, always a particular favorite and a rare sight indeed, but he refocused on the task at hand.) “We have to get you back to the baths. You can’t go out like this.” 

“Do you know the way?”

“I think so.” Kíli slowly let go of his double knot. 

It released gradually, slipping and sliding over and around until . . . curtain.

It was kind of fascinating, really. Kíli reached out to do it again. 

“Kíli.”

Maybe he could do lots of little knots-no.

“Kíli!”

Kíli blinked, his fingers freezing in Fíli’s hair. Fíli was looking a little . . . flushed. 

Oh. Right. Hair. He always got that way when his hair was involved. Especially if Kíli pulled on it a bit.

But that was when Fíli’s hair was _sexy_. Not when it was like. _This._

“Right.” Kíli withdrew his wandering hands. “Let’s get dressed and find those baths again.”

\----

They found the baths easily enough. They both had a fair sense of direction (hence not getting lost twice in Hobbiton, ahem, though they weren’t fool enough to mention that to a certain someone), and they weren’t too far away from the bathhouses. However, they were caught just outside the doors by none other than Dwalin, who had the distinct look of a dwarf who was lost and did not care to admit it.

Well, they should be safe, seeing as how Dwalin had no sense of humor to speak of and-

He nearly busted his gut laughing. He was laughing so hard his face turned pink and he bent over, resting his hands on his knees a moment.

“Run,” Fíli hissed (he always had a better developed survival instinct than his brother), but too late, because one massive hand fell on Fíli’s right shoulder, and the other on Kíli’s left.

“Oh, I don’t think so, lads,” Dwalin chortled and that _twinkle_ in his eye was terrifying. Dwalin never looked happy. Ever. It was a law of their universe. “Wouldn’t want you to miss breakfast. Most important meal of the day.”

And he dragged them off to what the elves laughingly referred to as breakfast. Salad was not an appropriate breakfast food.

It was bad enough that Fíli had to face the dwarves when they reached the dining terrace . . . hall . . . whatever. But that wasn’t the worst. No. Not even Bofur’s impromptu song about lovely elven lasses and their miles of shining hair was the worst (and Bilbo _joined in_ , and wasn’t that just the ultimate betrayal, this is what you get for trying to foster friendships with other races: inappropriate rhymes).

The worst occurred before they ever reached the dining hall.

The worst was the rush of elven feet, the worried elven cries:

“What are you doing with that child?! Unhand him! _Dwarves_!”

And elven hands grabbing him by the shoulders, pulling him back against elven _thighs_ (harder than he would have suspected), soothing elven hands stroking his hair as an _elf_ fussed at his brother with a high, musical, “You have no business leading an elf-child about!” as the other said, “I haven’t seen a child in _ages_ , I didn’t know there were any _visiting_!” and they spun him around with the protective air of mother hens on the defensive.

Kíli laughed so hard he fell over, one heavy boot kicking wildly into the air like a dog having his belly scratched in just the right place.

Dwalin had to release his sheaths so he could take deeper breaths.

And the elves were horrified and terribly apologetic (“Oh, oh my you’re a dwa - but your hair and – well, you’re really quite small and - but it’s lovely, your hair, just _lovely_ , so-“) and-

Kíli curled up in a ball, gasping for air.

-and Fíli was never going to live this down.

\------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [nelyo3](http://nelyo3.tumblr.com/) on tumblr [beautifully visualized Fili's lovely elven locks](http://nelyo3.tumblr.com/post/85930235025/dragonsquill-for-glorious-stone-essence), and I have attempted not to bust any nonexistent stitches while looking at it, okay?


	6. Chapter 6

Thorin didn’t say anything about Fíli’s hair over breakfast, though he did send a number of clearly disturbed looks Fíli’s way and he pointedly did not clap along with Bofur’s “Lovely Elven Locks” song (Thorin could generally be depended upon to at least tap a rhythm on the table in the absence of his definitely-dwarvish-not-at-all-elven-harp). For his part, Fíli very much wanted to explain that the change was inadvertent, but every time he tried one of his “friends” would interrupt and pet him and comment on how he could _find a lovely elven bride to carry you back to Erebor, thereby protecting your delicate beauty on the road._

Balin looked as if he was seriously considering the idea of marrying Fíli off, which was the most horrifying part of all. Fíli distinctly heard his uncle’s advisor mutter something about _Men cement alliances with marriages_ and _with that hair an elf might consider it_. By the Maker and all his well-earned palm calluses, they all knew full well he was spoken for, especially Balin, who had been the first – but sadly not the last – to catch Fíli and Kíli mostly naked and in a compromising position.

(Fíli was able to ignore the company for a moment as he looked fondly back on that day. They’d been just off the training grounds and it was the first time he’d heard Kili make a certain little sort of squeaking noise that was half incredibly-sexy and half adorable-baby-bunny. The whole thing had been great fun until their tutor had walked in and it had quickly turned into _the most awkward moment in history_ – right up until the time Dwalin walked in on them, then the time Thorin-)

Fíli was thrown out of his increasingly embarrassing daydream when elves appeared at both his elbows, each with a pitcher of water, and each bent almost double so their faces were level with his. 

The stink of flowers was almost overwhelming. 

“Do you need a refill, Master Dwarf?” asked the dark-haired one on the left, all musical voice and fair skin and large eyes and friendly smile.

“If he does,” said the light-haired one on the right, all sharp features and long impractical dress and thin eyebrows, “I’m sure he would prefer lime water to lemon water.”

Dark Hair’s eyes narrowed. “Clearly he is a dwarf of discernment,” she said, motioning sharply in the general direction of Fíli’s head. “You may go about your business, all is taken care of here.”

Light Hair rested one delicate hand on the table, right by Fíli’s, then smiled at him in a way that sent a shiver of foreboding down his back. Fíli was not overly superstitious as dwarves went, but a dwarf didn’t just ignore that sort of warning.

Across the table, Balin made considering noises and looked between the two elves. Fíli didn’t know whether to roll his eyes, run in a general panic, or tattle to Thorin about his advisor’s thought processes.

“I’m really fine,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “We were just about to leave anyway.” He had to lean half out of his seat to see around Dark Hair. “Right, brother?”

Kíli was looking between the elves with a strange expression that somehow managed to convey _deep amusement_ and _dangerous eyebrows_ all at once. “Yes we were.” He elbowed dark hair a bit to get her out of the way. She shot him a mildly angry look, but did back off. A bit. 

Fíli glared Kíli down before his bother could try and lift him over the seat.

There would be _no_ repeat of that Carry Big Brother Around game from this morning, thank you.

But then Dark Hair took his arm and helped him up and that was worse. She beamed down at him, her cheeks a bit pink (he knew he had that kind of effect on certain dwarves but on _elves_?! He didn’t know whether to be smug or horrified. He settled for an uncomfortable combination of both.). “Have a good day, Master Fíli,” she said, and then glided quickly away, shooting Fair Hair a _look_ that could have melted glass (nothing to a proper dwarven glare, of course, but it’d do for elves).

Kíli looked furious (so cute when he was angry).

Fíli shot him a narrow-eyed smirk.

Kíli flushed. Much more attractive than elf-flushes, nice and ruddy across the nose. Yes.

It was at this point that Thorin, looking a bit pale around the mouth, stood up without excusing himself and stomped away, shooting the innocent Fíli a glare on the way by.

Fíli rolled his eyes and would have followed, but he was quickly surrounded by dwarves who were unnecessarily strong and in the way (Dwalin to Fili’s left, Dori to Fili’s right – Dori looked sweet and all but his hands were steel), at which point the entire Company prevailed upon Ori to sketch a picture (he was supposed to be _on their side_ , being the baby of the group, it was a stinging betrayal). Ori looked mildly flustered at first, but gave in readily and even _offered to make copies_ , ignoring Fíli’s snarling as Dori all but sat on him. 

It did not escape Fíli’s notice (or Balin’s, disturbingly) that Dark Hair and Fair Hair stayed as well, twittering to each other behind their hands and smiling gently at him as he wiggled free and made a run for it. “So _lovely_ ,” one murmured. 

“But still small,” the other said. 

“Oh, I think his height could be very . . . convenient,” the first purred and oh. Mahal. 

Fíli tossed a horrified look his brother’s way.

It was one thing to tease Kíli a bit and get him to use the Durin Eyebrows but…this?!

“Bath,” Kíli agreed without Fíli saying a word. “Now.”


	7. Chapter 7

They finally escaped when Ori proclaimed his work of art complete and it passed muster with everyone else (Fíli and Kíli promised horrible retribution on their scribe with the power of their eyeballs. Ori looked less concerned than they felt he should be, because at the moment Dwalin was patting him on the shoulder and saying, “You’ve a talent, lad, I’ll buy a copy,” and well, with back-up like that, maybe he had a point.).

Kíli insisted on accompanying Fíli this time, to assist and comfort as the case may be, and to make sure Fíli didn’t lose his mind and shampoo his hair again. “After this morning?!” Fíli demanded, but Kíli just scowled at him and said, “You can’t be trusted around hair soap, brother.”

(Assisting and comforting did occur, but then Kíli got wet – “accidentally,” Fíli assured him, though Kíli pointed out it was not necessary to throw his _entire head of hair like that_ and _that actually hurt some you idiot_ and _this is why you’re not allowed any more braids_ \- and so he stripped down too, and then he was somehow in the tub, and somehow there was soap everywhere and steam and everything ended with two light-headed but satisfied young dwarves.)

Kíli dried his brother’s hair with a vengeance, muttering to Mahal for assistance(“I’m fairly certain our Make has more important things to worry about,” Fíli said with a chuckle, but Kíli was having none of it. “When you’re married off to an elf you’ll be sorry you didn’t help me out.”) and digging in at the scalp and not caring a bit if he pulled. Fíli huffed and let him, but it felt rather nice really, those little tugs and Kíli pressed against his back and muttering to himself against Fíli’s ears and they got distracted and-

They were two _young_ dwarves. Two young dwarves who were quite deeply in love and had been surrounded by a dozen companions for several weeks. Also, for all that they were terrible hosts in many respects, the elves’ rooms did come well-stocked with certain provisions, so while there were limitations on their activities due to being on a quest and whatnot (such a shame with such excellent if rather flowery oil on hand), they were creative in addition to in-love-and-surrounded, so a good time was had by all.

(They did stop at one point, to Fili’s surprise, for Kili to growl and shove all of Fíli’s hair back in a braid. The younger brother swore it still smelled like flowers and there were some things his libido just couldn’t handle. Fili dryly offered to go roll around in the hearth a bit to pick up some of the smoky aroma, then growled, pinned his brother down, and very effectively distracted him when it appeared Kili was _actually considering it_.)

They were quite tired and a bit pleasantly sore after that, but they still decided on a walk rather than a nap. “Your hair takes forever to dry if there’s not some wind,” Kíli insisted as he unraveled the braid, so they went out for an afternoon stroll around the ridiculously curvy little elven walkways. There wasn’t much of a breeze, but the sun peeking through the leaves did get the job done.

If they took advantage of some leafy bowers to press together and kiss deeply (lazy tongues and nips and bits of laughter here and there) and maybe pin one or the other to a handy tree and just make out and grope a bit, well, if the elves didn’t do the same thing then what was the point of all these little hidey-holes in the first place?

When Fíli’s hair finally dried, it was still . . . uncomfortably straight, but not so creepily smooth that Kili couldn’t braid it properly. “The soap didn’t get all the shampoo out,” Kili commented with some regret as he worked. “Maybe I should pull it all back so it’s less obvious?”

Fíli frowned at the mirror. They’d escaped to their room after dinner, where the two ogling elves from last night had been joined by a friend, but at least Fíli had received the lion’s share of the dessert and shared it with his little brother (magnanimous elder sibling that he was). He fancied the strands might be straightening again as Kíli ran a comb through them. “A few more washes should take care of it,” he muttered. “And then I’m setting that picture of Ori’s on fire.”

Kili did not share the fact that he had secretly asked Ori to make him a copy during dinner, to laugh at according to his leisure. 

He did not feel like spending most of the afternoon in a headlock.

\-----

They had dinner with the elves several more times over the next few days. Elrond seemed to like to put them out on a sort of twilight terrace filled with harps and elves with flutes (all of whom needed to just _step aside_ and let the dwarves at those instruments; Kili had never missed his violin so much before). Thorin was making noises about leaving while the rest of his Company enjoyed having proper beds to sleep in, elves or no elves (annoying the elves was also an extremely fun game to keep them occupied; Kíli’s contribution had been the fountains and was, of course, brilliant).

During these dinners, Kíli found himself watching the elves, for lack of anything better to do. They were very . . . tall. And. Unattractive. And. 

And.

He frowned.

Well. Some of the lasses weren’t so bad. From the back.

And the smell when they leaned down to fill a glass or lower a new pile of leaves on the table (generally as close to Fíli as possible, and it’s not as if he blamed them, just showed good taste, and since he was beside his brother his goblet was always food and the best food was placed at his elbow) wasn’t as horrible as he remembered from the first night.

Really, it was a little refreshing. Flowery, yes, but not _terrible_. Out in the air it was almost nice. It reminded him of something . . . pleasant that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

And from the back, especially that one with the lighter hair, wasn’t so-

Dwalin caught him looking.

And teased him.

And he made an idiot of himself.

And turned bright red.

And glared from under his eyebrows.

Because he was not interested in _elves_!

Whatever gender they might be!

He . . . he wasn’t! 

They were annoying! They sang stupid songs! They played boring music! They couldn’t properly aim a roll! They-

And the one with the light hair leaned over next to him in a sweep of silky, floral hair that actually grazed his cheek and made him shiver, just a little.

Fili shot him an almost concerned look.

Fili. With his _hair_ still ridiculously straight from that ridiculous shampoo. Fili, smelling of flowers and sunshine instead of metal and smoke as a dwarf ought to-

Kili’s eyes flew wide.

_It was all Fili’s fault!_

FILI and his hair all over the place and all in Kili’s _face_ and near his _nose_ and touching his _jaw_ and that _shampoo_ -

Kili snarled. And crossed his legs.

When this quest was over, he was going to start a new one.

And it was going to involve destroying every bottle of shampoo in _existence._


	8. Chapter 8

By the time they were packing up to leave, nearly a week later, Fili’s hair was almost back to normal (and Kíli had almost silently forgive him for what the scent - no, stink, definitely stink - of elf shampoo had done to him); though to Fili this was a somewhat tragic normal, back to its previous Thorin-like consistency rather than its recent Stone Essence glory. Even Kíli had to admit it was something of a disappointment; he’d gotten used to this new mane of Fili’s. It had been even more fun to play with than the current incarnation.

 _You never appreciate what you have until it’s gone_ , Kíli thought philosophically.

Embracing his tendency toward optimism, Kíli also considered that on the upside, it would be much easier to take baths if he wasn’t running interference between his brother and the rest of the company. Really, there should be some kind of warning label on shampoo.

_Warning: Makes brothers look distractingly delicious in the bath. Use with caution._

…And something even stronger on the elf shampoo.

He shuddered, and not in the pleasant way.

There was a gentle knock on the door.

Kíli looked up from the pack they had “borrowed” from the elves on Thorin’s orders. They would, it appeared, be sneaking out in the middle of the night. Fili, generally a faster thinker, had his pack under the bed before the fist on the other side tapped a third time. He strode over to the door with his typical loose swagger (he didn’t have his coat on, and the way he walked was just – yes – Kíli approved), grabbed the handle with both hands, and swung it open with a twist of his hips (elf doors were unnecessarily large, and Fili was the only member of their company who had mastered opening them smoothly).

An elf stood there.

A familiar elf.

Kíli watched Fili go very still.

“Master Dwarf,” the dwarf said stiffly (as they said everything). “I wanted to . . . apologize for my behavior a few days ago.”

Kíli narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his nose to place this dark-haired twig as opposed to all the others. It wasn’t one of the two who snarled elvishly at each other over Fili’s dinner, or the elf-king (lord, whatever), or his sidekick-elf who couldn’t look serene while taking a roll to the shoulder (thereby making him far more entertaining than the others). No, it was-

He grinned.

Ooooh right!

Mama Elf!

Fili sighed. “Think nothing of it,” he muttered between clenched teeth, and moved to close the door.  
Mama Elf, she who would save innocent elflings (or whatever they called their spawn) from evil dwarves, moved her foot just enough that if Fili slammed the door shut he’d probably break it.

Fili scowled.

Kíli silently applauded his self-control. This was why Fili was meant to be king; most dwarves would have crushed those toes.

“No, I wish to . . .” Mama Elf huffed in a most un-elfy way and suddenly shoved a worn bag into Fili’s hands. When she spoke again, her voice came out in a rush. “I went into the forest near the orc attack and found this along with some of the others, your leader says it is yours, please take it as an apology. YouhavetrulylovelyhairIhaveneverseenitslike.”

And then she ran.

Literally.

Ran away.

Her silly elven slippers skipped noiselessly along the wooden hallway. Her sleek elven hair flicked behind her as she disappeared around the corner.

Fili blinked after her.

Kíli peeked over Fili’s shoulder. “Did she just tell you that you have lovely hair?”

“No.” Fili said this firmly.

“Oh, I think she did.”

“She did not.” Just as firm.

Kíli grinned. “If you say so, brother.” He could be gracious. “What did she bring you?”

Fili looked down into his hands. “Oh. It’s my pack.” 

“Your pack?” And it was, the smallest of his saddlebags, the one that Fili had well-stuffed with soft items to carefully protect his back-up bottle of-

Fili smirked happily and held up the dark blue bottle.

_Stone Essence._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this point on we do not give a flying flip about proper movie or book canon.
> 
> Because, shampoo.

Fíli’s hair was wet when they sneaked out of Rivendell.

But it dried into golden waves by noon the next day.

And it stayed fantastic. Through stone giants and goblins, past giants and on the backs of eagles. Fíli’s hair was _amazing._ It shone, it fluttered, it caressed (Kíli should have been terrified on the back of a _giant eagle_ but somehow that familiar scent of smoke-and-hot-metal whipping all over his face made it all okay), it floated in the wind. Fíli’s hair became the Company’s unacknowledged symbol, a shining flag to follow in the dark of Mirkwood and their escape from the elven dungeons.

If all was well with Fíli’s hair, there was still hope for the Company as a whole.

Said escape from Mirkwood was a bit of a mess, what with elves and orcs and dwarves in barrels all engaging in a (rather fun, really) free-for-all. Sadly, all the elves survived, but quite a few orcs were wiped out. Kíli spent the end of his ride preening a bit over his very important contribution to their escape, in which he had pulled a lever which sent them pouring down the river. (He would never know how close he came to taking a poisoned arrow to the knee, which certainly would have put a damper on the whole trip. Just as a large and especially knobby orc lined up his shot, Fíli called Kíli’s name, causing the orc to slant a quick glance in Fíli’s direction. The glorious golden mane was only damp then, not soaked down to slick honey, and a spray of river droplets caught the sun and reflected it right into the orc’s eyeballs. The arrow few wide and stabbed an unfortunate orc in the stomach. Though songs would one day be written of Fíli the Golden, King of Erebor, and his flowing sun-kissed hair, this moment would tragically never receive the verse it deserved.)

“I lost count of how many of them were _petting_ me in that thrice-cursed forest,” Fíli grumbled into Kíli’s ear as dwarves were dragged out of barrels. Fíli – smelling strongly of apples – had tugged Kíli out of his and then taken position behind his brother. “I am not a _mine cat_.”

“Is that why you’re hiding?” Kíli asked with amusement.

“This is a _strategic position_ in case anyone gets any ideas,” Fíli argued, and before Kíli could tease him anymore (honestly, Fíli hiding behind _him_ , it was usually the other way around, as annoying as it was to have to _crouch_ , Fíli was just inconveniently short), Thorin was barking at everyone and there was some barge driver named Bard and Balin was laying on the charm and then there were barrels of _fish._

Kíli would’ve _killed_ for some flower-laden elf shampoo about now.

Or even a handful of mint leaves.

-And then they were in Bard’s house (his kids were cute) and taking turns in the bath, generally in pairs to save time and water. 

Kíli hopped into the barely-warmish water (being the youngest stank, they only refilled every two baths and they were after Nori, whose own mane required a tub to himself but Ori had kicked him and squeezed in too, then they’d taken _forever_ elbowing each other in the face while washing out Nori’s hair) and held up the bar of soap. “I’ll help you with your hair.”

Fíli waved a hand. “No need.” He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a bundle of bandages.

Kíli stared at him. “You,” he said carefully, “are kidding me.”

Fíli unwrapped that bottle – _that bottle was it endless? WAS IT IMPOSSIBLE TO BREAK?!_ – and climbed in on Kíli’s knees. “What?”

“They took all our weapons! They took my _bow_!”

Fíli looked at it. “This isn’t a weapon.”

“You could have _beaten them over the head with it_!”

Fíli stared at him. “That would have broken it.”

Kíli _gaped._

Fíli shrugged, grabbed the pitcher beside the tub, and dumped water over both their heads. “That elf you talked to in the dungeon-” he nearly (accidentally?) dropped the full pitcher, causing it to whack rather painfully on the crown of Kíli’s head, “oh, _excuse me,_ the elf you _chatted up_ while we were in the _dungeon_ -”

“I was being _friendly_ to put her _off her guard-_ ”

“-Also came to chat with me.”

Kíli blinked. “She did?”

“What, people shouldn’t want to talk to me?” Fíli arched an eyebrow, dipped shampoo onto his fingers, and started scrubbing at his hair. 

“Well. Sure.” Kíli smirked and grabbed the soap. “After all, you’re irresistible to elves, as I recall.”

Fíli eyed him. A brief scuffle ensued, which ended with Kíli’s head under Fíli’s armpit, which was completely unfair because _height difference why did he have no advantage?I_ – but Kíli was saved when a dollop of lather slid off Fíli’s forehead and into his eyes. The “golden prince of Erebor” gave a high pitched yelp and started scrubbing frantically in the eyeball area.

Kíli took pity on him and used the pitcher. “So you talked to Tauriel.”

“Yes, we discussed a variety of topics. Did you know, for example,” he peeked from between twin rivers of semi-clean water, “that she recognized the Stone Essence bottle when it was confiscated?”

Kíli groaned and covered his face with wet hands. “Sweet _Aule_ -”

“They call it _Green Essence_. It comes in pine. Which I don’t think sounded too bad. Smelled good on her, anyway,” Kíli was momentarily stymied by an image of Fíli sniffing some strange elf-maid’s hair _through the bars of his cell_. Fíli, the good nephew, who hated elves as Thorin had carefully taught them to. “She was going to give me a bottle if Thorin had just behaved himself so we didn’t have to sneak out. I wouldn’t have used it, I don’t need a repeat of Rivendell, but it was a nice thought. She returned my own bottle, anyway.” Fíli scratched at his unwound mustache. “Elves are annoying, tree-shagging, dwarf-capturing sons of orcs, but they do take good care of their hair.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I love to hate you.”

“I’ll accept that.” Fíli dumped water over his head.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company of Thorin Oakenshield reaches the Lonely Mountain.
> 
> SPOILER ALERT: There is a dragon in it.

What with one adventure and another, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield finally reached the Lonely Mountain with only hours to spare before the sun set on Durin's Day.

They sent Bilbo in first, as planned. And for a while, everything was fine. Well, obviously, all the dwarves were pacing and running over each other and snarling and being nervous, and there was that one fight among Nori, Fíli, and Dwalin, when Nori grabbed Fili’s bag and threatened to throw it at Dwalin’s face and Fili punched him so hard he saw stars.

But the bag was safe.

And therefore the shampoo was safe.

So.

A win.

At this point it all went to the Halls in a handbasket, because the mountain started shaking and here came their burglar with fire on his heels, panting, “Dragon!” as if they didn’t _know that already._

Then Smaug had a bit of a fit, and they ran around a good deal with a dragon hot on their trail.

“This is ridiculous!” Nori shouted as they all squished against each other in a small alcove. “There was _no plan to actually do something about the dragon?!_ ”

“Did you hear anyone ever _mention_ a plan?” Dwalin snapped back.

“I thought you were just keeping it to your high-class, snobbish, clod-headed selves-”

And fire, and a taunting dragon-voice, and they were running again.

“I can’t…believe…there’s no..plan!” Bilbo this time. “That…would have been…a good idea!”

There was some grumbling at the burglar for _getting the damn dragon angry in the first place,_ but he was having none of it. “I was hired to burgle! Not to kill dragons!”

Fili and Kili felt rather like they were just along for the ride. “I kind of thought Uncle had a plan, too,” Kili muttered in the direction of his brother’s ear. They skidded to a stop a bit too quickly this time, and Bombur couldn’t put on the brakes fast enough. He slammed into Kili, who was consequently shoved face-first into his brother’s hair.

Fili smelled nice.

Dammit.

Focus, Kili.

“I’m probably less surprised than I should be,” Fili muttered. His face was currently smooshed into Thorin’s shoulder.

The dragon was quite close now, nattering to himself about dwarves and kings and stones, and demanding they come out as if they were stupid enough to actually do so. 

(At this point both Dwalin and Fíli grabbed hold of Thorin’s hand-me-down coat, just in case he decided to take on a dragon one-on-one.)

“I have a plan!” Thorin snapped. “We just-” he looked around wildly, “we have to-”

His eyes fell on Fili’s bag, which he was clutching protectively against his chest.

 **“You!”** Thorin suddenly burst out.

Fili took a startled step back. “Me?”

Thorin reached out and snatched the bag from him, ignoring Fili’s yelp of protest. He thrust in a big hand, rooted around, and emerged with the wrapped bottle of Stone Essence. 

Kíli gave a little gasp of alarm.

“Uncle!” Fili cried, reaching out with both hands. But Thorin took a step back and lifted his arm well over his own head, staring down at his smaller nephew. He placed his other hand firmly on Fili’s shoulder, holding him at arm’s length.

“Fili,” Thorin said in his most serious voice.

Fili’s eyes were on the bottle. His hands were reaching out but his arms were too short to cover the distance with Thorin holding him back. Kili’s hands were hovering around Fili’s back, trying to decide if he should hold on. He never would have imagined Fili _jumping_ Thorin before that elf-cursed shampoo, but now-

-now he wasn’t so sure.

“ _Uncle_ ,” Fíli pleaded.

“This has to be done, Fili,” Thorin said, and there was a mad gleam in his eye that made the entire company – save Fili, who was watching his bottle and not Thorin’s eyes – take a large step back. Bofur was prudent enough to take three, which almost sent him toppling off the walkway, but Bifur politely saved him. 

Suddenly, Thorin spun on one heel, lifted his arm, and threw the bottle of Stone Essence as hard as he could.

It hit, with unerring accuracy, the dragon’s right eyeball.

Fili gave a shout of such horror and rage that it made every hair on Kili’s head stand on end. There was a _snickt_ in the air as Fíli pulled out his borrowed sword and dagger. Kili made a grab for him – Thorin might be _old_ but he was strong, and Fili would get his arse handed to him in front of the entire company – but Fili moved too fast and Kili missed him and Fili-

Fíli didn’t attack Thorin at all. 

No.

He ran to the edge of the walkway and _leapt off_ with his wild warrior’s cry, soaring through the air right at the dragon’s face.

Kili gaped.

“AIM FOR THAT MISSING SCALE BILBO MENTIONED!” Thorin bellowed just as Fili took the leap. “THOUGH THE EYE COULD BE GOOD TOO!”

“What?!” Kili squeaked unmanfully.

Thorin looked at him. “Have you ever seen your brother in a fight?!” he demanded. “He’s like a rabid dog.” Then he lifted his voice again and yelled, “SMAUG TOLD BILBO YOUR HAIR LOOKS GREASY!”

Kili gasped. “He didn’t!”

“Of course he didn’t!” Bilbo snapped. “He’s never even seen Fili!”

\-----

Smaug the dragon was feeling extremely grumpy. 

He had been deeply settled in a well-deserved nap when something noisy and invisible decided to rudely interrupt him. He’d set his internal clock for a solid forty years – not too long, not too short – and he still had five months to go. 

Being awakened early always made him a bit groggy. Being groggy made him tetchy. And being already tetchy when he was bombarded by _dwarves_ made him very grumpy indeed.

Dwarves, he found, were very annoying. Always bleating on and on about their treasure, ignoring the fact that he had very rightfully stolen it. Always scurrying all over his glorious hoard, in their filthy boots, screwing up his organizational system and generally being a terrible nuisance.

He was definitely going to eat them.

After all, it was entirely their fault that he was ready for breakfast five months early. They should provide the biscuits, so to speak.

Now he just had to catch them.

It turned out catching a small group of dwarves and their invisible whatever was a bigger challenge than stomping out their guards, who had tended to congregate in large groups and point tiny, rather cute, very sharp things at him. These scurried about a good bit more, and kept ducking into little alcoves he couldn’t get a decent claw into.

**“You!”**

Smaug turned his great head. This was another problem with dwarves.

They were very _loud._

This is why you had to thoroughly exterminate any hoard before settling in. Otherwise they’d be all over, yelling and singing and stomping and fighting with each other.

He had learned _that_ lesson the hard way. 

Never keep pets, they were more trouble than they were worth.

The grumble was huddled on one of the old walkways. Hmm. A convenient height. He could snap up a few from there as a sort of appetizer. He turned his body – always took a bit of maneuvering – and started to make his way over.

Something whacked him in the eye.

Pint-sized _dwarves_ on an _icy pine_ , that stung!

Smaug bristled and opened his mouth to roar – they’d thoroughly deserve any busted eardrums they earned, and it didn’t mess up the flavor at all – gathered up some fire-

Only to hear something else roar instead.

A little, adorable roar.

It reminded him of his sister when she was a baby.

Blinking his sore right eye, Smaug tilted his head to see with the left (never his strongest, so why couldn’t they whack him _there_?).

Something was coming at his face. 

Something _golden._

Something _fluttery._

Something that smelled _very nice._

He reached up with one massive paw-

-and caught it.

\-----


	11. Chapter 11

What Kíli would later claim was a masculine bellow of surprise actually came out as a squeak of Fíli’s name as he watched a dragon snatch his beloved brother out of the air.

“Well,” Thorin huffed, “scratch that plan.”

\-----

Fíli kept complete control of his bladder. 100%. 

He rather hoped that would be written on his tomb. “Snatched out of the air by a dragon, did not piss.”

At least Kíli would be proud of him. Hopefully.

“Hello,” the dragon said, in a smooth voice that sent surprisingly pleasant breath wafting over Fíli. It was very warm, but not uncomfortably hot, and smelled of firewood. “What are you?”

Fíli swallowed and wiggled a bit. Smaug was holding him in one massive paw, cradled and surrounded by claws as big as Fíli’s entire body. It was. Ah. Disconcerting. To. Say the least. “Fíli,” he answered, and his voice only shook a bit.

(Still dry in the general underwear area, also. Which, given the number of layers he was wearing even in this reduced state, was a good thing. It took _forever_ to strip down. Not to mention he didn’t have spares, and the ones he had were rather, well, beaten up and abused from their travels and weren’t exactly in a state for public consumption-)

“A Fíli?” The dragon shifted, sitting back on his great haunches. The movement was surprisingly smooth – much less light-head-inducing than the eagles had been. Smaug’s head lowered, Fíli’s eyes widening as each inch between them disappeared. One nostril – roughly the size of Fíli’s torso – hovered above his body and-

_Sniffed._

“You stink of dwarf,” Smaug commented with a sneer, “but there’s something else, too.” He punctuated this statement with another inhalation that dragged half of Fíli’s hair forward to flutter against the scales around that _snout_. He fervently hoped dragons weren’t prone to sneezing. “Something pleasant.”

Fíli panted and started gently pulling his hair away from where it clung to the dragon’s nose. “Ah…”

“And this.” Smaug brought up his other…hand? Paw? Foot? and delicately touched the tip of one giant, dwarf-killing talon to slide through the hair at Fíli’s right temple. 

It was so sharp that several strands snipped off and curled around the black nail.

Smaug studied them with academic interest.

“This is gold,” he purred the word gold, sending vibrations through Fíli’s back. 

Fíli blinked.

“My hair?” he asked.

“Is that what you call it?” Smaug sounded genuinely interested. “Dwarves have it, and Men, and Elves, though it seems to serve no real purpose. It’s usually ugly and useless, and I’m pretty sure it’s made of the same stuff as your sad little talons.” Fíli glanced down for a moment at his fingernails, a bit horrified by the comparison. “But yours . . . is gold.” The sniff this time was delicate. “And it smells of metal.”

“It’s not . . . actually gold. It’s just. Hair.” How did you explain hair to someone who didn’t have any? It was an interesting dilemma. “It’s there to keep my head warm. I don’t have an internal furnace like you.”

“It is _clearly_ gold,” Smaug argued, rather huffily, and he swung the foot with Fíli over the hoard in a wide arc that seemed to leave Fíli’s stomach well behind the rest of them. “I know gold!” 

Fíli decided suddenly that perhaps _yes absolutely his hair was made of gold if that was what Mr. Dragon wanted!_ “And the scent...” A sigh blasted Fíli back, the hair in question flying around his face and blinding him momentarily. He took a braid to the cheek at high speed and winced.

(No wonder Kíli was so given to whining when he turned his head too fast. But then, if Kíli had some concept of personal space, he wouldn’t always be all over Fíli’s shoulder when Fíli turned, so ultimately he had only himself to blame.)

“That’s...” cautiously, his natural swaggery somehow returning despite any arguments from his rational mind, Fíli drew up his legs to sit cross-legged in the dragon’s palm. “That’s from my shampoo.”

“Oh?” Smaug’s voice could melt stone. The stone would be happy it melted. “And what is that?”

\----

“What are they _doing_?” Dwalin hissed from his position standing guard from behind a handy piller.

“They appear to be talking,” Balin answered in a sort of distant voice, as if half his wits had suddenly packed up and moved elsewhere.

“About _what_?”

Smaug shifted suddenly, lowering his head on the giant neck and eyeballing his treasure. When he found what he was looking for, he lowered the paw holding their prince to the level of his huge teeth. The members of the Company scrambled for their weapons, Kíli’s hands wrapping about his too-large Men’s bow and notching an arrow. He aimed it steadily at one of the yellow eyes.

Thorin held a hand up. “Hold,” he said. “No reason to antagonize him when Fíli seems fine.” He muttered something under his breath about _told him to go for the eyeballs, not make friends._

Twelve dwarves and one hobbit watched, fascinated, as Fíli crawled to the edge of the palm and reached down between two long talons to pick up something from the great hoard. He had to practically hang off with his toes to do so, hands waving wildly a moment before he managed to snatch whatever he was reaching for. Then, instead of _dropping off and running away,_ as any halfway sane dwarf would have done in his place, the crown-prince-to-be wiggled backwards up the talons – Smaug reached over his over hand to politely offer a claw for Fíli to plant his hands on and shove back from – and resettled in the palm.

 _No,_ Kíli thought.

 _Surely not,_ he told himself.

 _This is insane,_ he noted.

And he watched as his brother unwrapped his precious bottle of Stone Essence and held it up for the dragon to see.


	12. Chapter 12

Kíli sat on the edge of the walkway and yawned.

He hadn’t started this way. Oh, no. He’d spent what seemed like quite a long time prowling up and down the walkway, stomping on the stone and having to be restrained from leaping off (“You do realize if you jump off and no dragons catch you, you’ll break every bone in your body.” “They why did you get _Fíli_ to?!” “Oh, he’s fine, stop worrying”).

After a while, his frantic prowl slowed to a pace.

And then a meander.

After another half hour or so, he sat down, swinging his legs and leaning forward to see better.

But finally.

Yawn.

Because watching your brother chat with a dragon is less exciting than anticipated after a few hours.

It was a shame he didn’t have his leather-working kit or some arrows to work on. He hated not having something to do with his hands.

Ho-hum.

“Maybe we could form a ladder and someone could climb down,” Bofur suggested from behind him. 

This was the fifth time this particular suggestion had come up.

“Who?!” Dori demanded. “We don’t know why he’s not eating Fíli! He might make a meal of anyone we sent down!”

“He has been sleeping a long time. I’m always hungry when I first wake up. Fíli’d probably looking pretty appetizing about now. He’s not too big, but he could still make a decent appeti-”

“Don’t say that! Kíli’s _right there_!”

All of the ridiculous and useless plans ended with a note that Kíli was right there. As if they forgot about his existence every five minutes or so.

Kíli sighed and lifted his arms over his head until he heard a satisfying _crack_.

And then nearly put Thorin’s theory about breaking every bone in his body to the test when a deep voice echoed through the treasure room. 

“I want the Kíli!” it demanded. The walkway beneath his bum vibrated with a combination of the dragon’s great voice and eleven pairs of dwarven boots jumping in surprise and landing again. 

“What?” Kíli squeaked. 

“THE KÍLI!” the dragon repeated, in an incredibly-loud-but-almost-polite tone, as if he honestly believed the problem was that Kíli hadn’t heard him. The ceiling shook this time. 

Thorin clapped him cheerfully on the shoulder. “Sounds like you’re on call!” he chirped.

Chirped?

Sweet Mahal.

There was that mad gleam again.

Was this dragon sickness? Did dragon sickness just make dwarves _incredibly cheerful_? 

He’d prefer it if Thorin was threatening to throw him off the ramparts. He could deal with _that_. But now Thorin – The Ass Under the Mountain, as he was known in secret whispers in some of Erid Luin’s less reputable alehouses - was _grinning_ at him and _patting his shoulder_ and _guh._

“You can’t be se-”

“Now, to get down to where they are, you’ll need to go out the left here, take your second right, then the fifth left, pass the third archway with the gold veins, and at the end of that hallway there’s a door-”

Balin heaved an impressive sigh. “Thorin, it’s the _first_ ,right, _sixth_ left-”

Thorin straightened up and looked down his pointy nose. “I know my way around my own kingdom, Balin. As prince, I have an innate sense of direction. Especially within Erebor’s walls.”

Balin looked at him evenly and, in his very sweetest voice, said, “You don’t know the way around your _bathroom,_ Thorin.”

Thorin gasped. A broad hand flew over his heart.

Kíli gaped.

Dwalin popped up. “I can show the lad the way.”

“If anyone’s going to show _my nephew_ down to the dragon that’s taken over _my kingdom_ , it will be _me_!”

Kíli rubbed his temples.

**“WHERE IS THE KÍLI?!”**

An avalanche of gold coins cascaded down the far left side of the cavern. 

“It is _clearly_ the third archway after the fifth left-”

“That is one of the _kitchens_!”

Fuck it.

Kíli stood up, planted his feet, threw out his chest, and shouted:

“If you want me, Smaug, come and get me!”

Much to his consternation-

Smaug did.

\-----

Smaug plucked Kíli right off the walkway, and Kíli gave a sort of hiccupping little scream that he would never, not in the rest of his days, admit to. 

It was kind of cute, really. It reminded Fíli of when Kíli was a baby. He’d liked aborted little squeal-screams, back in the day. It reminded Smaug of a newborn dragon, one of those little noises they’d make the first time they hiccupped fire, little eyes wide with shock at what they had accomplished.

(It was the last time Smaug would find Kíli cute.)

(Much as it had been the last time he found his little sister cute. The bratling.)

“Stop that now!” Fíli ordered, actually popping the sort of thumb-like claw by his hip. “You’re scaring him! Here, put him with me.”

Smaug gave him a definite eyeball ( _Note to self: Do not pop the dragon_ ), but he did pour Fíli’s brother into the same palm.

“D-d-dragon!” Kíli chattered, wrapping both arms around Fíli’s stomach in an absolute death grip. “Picked me up!”

Fíli petted his hair soothingly, having definite flashbacks now to when Kíli was about seven. “He did, but he didn’t mean to startle you-”

“Claws _everywhere_ -!”

“-I was just telling him about you and he wants to meet you-”

“The Kíli,” Smaug said in a dismissively disgruntled tone, “is _not_ golden.”

_“-breathing fire he’s going to fry us like Ori’s chips-”_

“Not right now, he’s agreed not to burn anyone at the moment, though I think I heard his tummy rumbling. He might have to go out and find some sheep or something.”

“Going to _eat us-”_

“Not golden at _all_. Quite a common sort of soot.” Smaug poked Kíli in the bum. The claw sliced through one layer of fabric, showing off his off-white long underwear.

Kíli squeaked and curled more into Fíli. “Touching my _ass_ he’s going to _eat my ass,_ Fíliiii”

Fíli rolled his eyes. “Too much fat there,” he said. “It’d be bad for Smaug’s figure.”

Kíli suddenly stilled. Then glared up at him from behind messy bangs. “I do not have a big butt,” he hissed. 

Fíli grinned at him. Worked. Every. Time. “If you say so.” Fair eyebrows rose. “Done panicking now?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“…I’m not sure. Is the dragon still looking at me?”

“I have a _name_ , the Kíli. My name is _Smaug_.” The dragon made a thoughtful noise. “The barrel-rider called me _Smaug the Stupendous_. I rather like that.”

Kíli groaned. 

“The Kíli,” Fíli said, because he had decided that there was no reason to point out that _actually_ they were _dwarves_ named Fíli and Kíli rather than, well, a Fíli and a Kíli. What Smaug didn’t know wouldn’t make him a snack, “is a little nervous. He’s never met a dragon before.”

Smaug snorted. Dark and light hair whipped around both young dwarves in the resultant hurricane. “Then he should get out more. We are the most fantastic creatures of Arda, the greatest creations upon the earth, we are fire, we are death-”

Fíli had heard this before. It went on for about half an hour. “Of course you are,” he agreed as he moved a reluctant Kíli around to face the dragon. Kíli kept his eyes squeezed almost entirely shut, occasionally peeking one open before making that adorable squeaking noise and closing it again. “But now he’s met you, so life is better for him. Right, Kíli?” He jiggled his brother’s elbow.

Kíli attempted an agreeable sort of whimper. 

All his bravado from the walkway had definitely gone off hiding somewhere.

Smaug lifted his head in what could only be called a preen, tossing it before lowering it back down to eyeball his pair of dwarves. “I do not wish to add him to my collection,” he said, “he is not gold. I don’t need soot.”

“Wait. What?” Kíli tilted his head back, reviving a bit at this piece of news. He squinted with his left eye and kept the other tightly shut. “He wants to add you to his _collection_?!”

Fíli shushed him. “I realize that he is, ah, onyx, rather than gold-”

“I do not collect _rocks._ ” Smaug gave a haughty sniff. “I collect _metals_ and _gemstones._ And he,” Smaug sneered, showing teeth the size of Bilbo, “does not smell nice.” 

“I took a bath just two days ago!” Kíli yelped automatically. He smelled _fine_! He smelled of good lye soap and maybe, well, maybe a bit of fish, but that was because the Lakemen rarely ate anything else- 

Fíli reached up and _twisted his nipple,_ cutting off any further arguments by eliciting a pained squawk.

“-but he has talents that we could use in the production line.”

Kíli’s eyes finally both popped open. “In the _what?_ ”

Smaug smiled. It was. There were.

_So many teeth._

“My golden collectible has been explaining the concept of a _‘business’_ to me. He says that it will bring me more gold and gems. I am intrigued.”

Kíli’s shout reverberated quite nicely throughout the treasure room, even if it didn’t have the sort of punch Smaug’s voice did. 

_“BUSINESS?!”_

\-----------

“Smaug has a sister,” Fíli told his brother.

The great dragon had rearranged them a good bit, curling up on the vast treasure and tucking them between his front knees (elbows?). It might have been comfortable if it wasn’t so _hot_. They were much too close to the furnace of that chest for any form of comfort, emotional or physical. They’d both already shed layers down to the unattractive dwarven long johns from the waist up.

“A sister,” Kíli said, a bit distantly, but he wasn’t scrabbling and clawing anymore, just pressed against Fíli’s side in a protective-please-protect-me combination that was very _Kíli._

Smaug’s mouth lifted in a snarl that showed entirely too many teeth. “Pryftan.” 

“Pryftan, the small and annoying,” Fíli agreed, and Smaug was clearly pleased with the title. “She’s his younger sister.” A sly look. “You know how younger siblings are.”

Kíli’s eyes narrowed.

Fíli smirked.

Smaug snapped, “Continue!”

He was not a patient dragon, not when he was five months short on his beauty rest.

“Smaug is worried that Pryftan might someday find a hoard larger than this-”

“A treasure larger than Erebor’s?” Kíli interrupted. “Where?” 

This earned him a pointed elbow to the ribcage that he didn’t quite understand, but he heeded. 

“ _As you know,_ competition between siblings is a serious issue. Apparently he’s ahead right now, and he’d like to keep it that way.”

“My hoard,” Smaug said in a hissing voice that one generally doesn’t want to hear in a dragon, “has _gone down._ ”

Fíli’s hands tightened on Kíli’s arms in what the younger brother recognized immediately as annoyance. Being a champion at irritating Fíli, he knew the signs. Yes, there went the right eyelid, twitching a bit. “His hoard has recently gone down by one cup.”

Ah, the one Bilbo stole that started all this nonsense.

“And _three coins_ ,” Smaug growled, in a terribly offended voice.

“And three coins, which I suspect are in Bilbo’s pockets from sliding down the hoard.”

Kíli’s eyes narrowed. “You can tell when three coins are missing?” 

“Of course. Can’t you?” Smaug said this dismissively, as if it was the most obvious statement in the history of the known world. 

“Clearly,” Fíli shoved in, “these losses have been difficult for Smaug the Stupendous, so I suggested that there are ways to increase the hoard he has here.”

Kíli scowled. “Rather than telling him to _go somewhere else_?” he hissed.

Fíli scowled right back. “Rather than telling him to _go somewhere else filled to the brim with inconvenient dwarves_ ,” he said pointedly, “yes. Smaug the Stupendous doesn’t want to have to go through another extermination procedure.”

Oh. Right. It would be in bad taste to send Smaug off to wipe out another people. Plus, there was no way anyone else had more gold than Erebor. Erebor was the best. Thorin said so.

“So how are you going to make more gold?”

Fíli straightened his shoulders. Even in the stifling heat, with both dwarves sweating fairly profusely, his hair slid attractively over his shoulders as he moved, catching a glint from the dragon’s great chest and shining back like beaten gold. “We’re going to make shampoo.”

Kíli couldn’t help it.

It was too much.

Just.

He burst out laughing.

\------


	13. Chapter 13

“Kíli!” Fíli hissed, tugging at his brother as the dragon watched them with interest.

“What is it doing?” Smaug asked. “Having some sort of fit?”

“He’s…had a long day,” Fíli offered weakly. “And he’s just excited for the business plan.” 

Kíli’s inappropriate mirth – which had a definite edge of _so this is what going insane feels like_ to it – didn’t last long. After only a minute or so he wiped at his wet eyes and coughed out, “Sorry, sorry. Just. The shampoo.”

“Yes.” If Fíli clenched his teeth any tighter, he was going to crack a few. “The shampoo. Which will require everyone in our Company to make.”

This made Kíli pause. “Everyone?”

“Yes, of course. Smaug can’t manufacture it all himself. He’ll be overseeing everything, not dealing with the nuts and bolts of the operation.” Mahal, it almost sounded like Fíli knew what he was talking about. “Bofur and Bombur will mine for stone to make the bottles – we’re agreed stone bottles will look much better for the Dragon Fire line-” when Kíli opened his mouth to interrupt, Fíli slapped a hand over it. Kíli was so surprised by the gesture that he didn’t even have the presence of mind to lick it properly. His dwarfling self would have been horrified. “Bifur will shape the bottles. Dori and Ori will design and etch them. Gloin and Oin will help with money matters. Dwalin will protect the shipments. Nori and Bilbo will check out the competition. Balin and Uncle will oversee and schedule deliveries. You and I will help make sales. And all that means _more gold_ for Smaug.”

“But this one,” Smaug interrupted, “is not _golden_. No one will want hair to look like _his._ They will not purchase, so my hoard won’t grow. I should eat him now.”

“No!” Fíli and Kíli barked in unison, though Kíli’s was well-muffled under the palm he belatedly remembered to bite sharply.

“No,” Fíli continued, jerking his hand away with a glare. “Kíli’s very friendly. People like him. You’ll see, it’s best to have him in sales. We can even use him as, ah, as a…before! Image! This is hair _before_ you use Flame Essence-”

“We agreed the line would be called _Dragon Fire,_ ” Smaug argued at the same time Kíli yelped, “My hair is not _that bad_!”

Fíli pressed forward, undeterred, “-and mine will be the _after_. He’d be _wasted_ as breakfast.”

“Have him use the Stone Essence. Turn him golden. I would have only goldens around me.” Smaug tossed his head. 

Kíli frowned. “It doesn’t change your-” another elbow and ow that _hurt,_ Fíli _knew_ that spot was off-limits except in only the most dire of arguments!

“I don’t know the recipe. I don’t have enough to, ah, make everyone golden at this point. So…” Fíli’s voice trailed off. “We need to send an expedition to Erid Luin to talk to the supplier there.”

“You can’t steal her recipe!” Kíli argued. Fíli looked like he was about to punch him if he didn’t shut up. But it was true! No honorable dwarf would-

“When you rightfully steal something, it is yours,” Smaug said. “This is the way of dragons.”

“Which is, of course,” Fíli assured them both, “the best way.”

Kíli didn’t look like he was buying it.

Fíli pinched him.

Kíli shoved Fíli. 

Fíli played dirty and grabbed Kíli’s hair and-

Everything rumbled, sound and trembling earth that sent some of the coins cascading down the hill of gold Smaug had decided to perch on.

Kíli grabbed his brother and there was that _squeak_ again. Fíli was going to experiment with that sound when they were in more relaxed circumstances.

The squeak became words: “What was that?!”

“That was my stomach.” Smaug had a strange expression on his face. His lower…lip? Jaw? Was…poking out further than the top…mandible? Lip? Lip.

Oh.

Mahal and Yavanna and all their friends at a picnic.

The dragon was _pouting._

“I am hungry. I _must_ eat something. Perhaps only Thorin?”

“Thorin is our leader,” Fíli argued. “You need him to get the production line set up. _None_ of the dwarves are expendable. But. There are…ponies outside. You could eat those.”

Smaug rumbled in his throat and in his huge belly. Then he heaved a sigh that set off more hurricane winds. “Oh, very well. I will return. You, Golden Fíli,” he looked at Fíli, then lowered his head and _nuzzled Fíli’s head_ , “will remain here.”

Fíli’s eyes rolled back just momentarily, and he turned very pale, but he didn’t fall over.

Kíli was very proud.

“Yes,” the dwarves agreed, “we’ll stay here.”

Smaug slowly unwound himself, keeping a sharp eye on them, and then waddled – his walk was really quite amusing when you really paid attention – toward the gaping hole where once the great treasury doors had stood. He was so determined to keep an eye on Fíli – his newest golden collectible – that he looked over his shoulder the entire time until his bum actually wandered behind him and he backed out of the cavern.

“Well,” Kíli said.

Fíli eyed him. For all Smaug’s fussing about goldens and not goldens, Fíli quite enjoyed eyeing Kíli. Even his hair was behaving better than usual, still fluttering a bit around his darkened cheeks even in the absence of Smaug’s hurricane.

“You do realize that even if we survive the dragon, and set up an assembly line to make shampoo, Bilbo’s going to kill you for feeding him the ponies.”

“Shut up, Kíli.” 

\---------

It isn’t easy to make a run for it over mountains of gold.

Even sturdy dwarvish boots – one of the few original parts of their current outfits – can’t find traction on ground that is constantly moving. What should have been a mad dash to safety immediately degenerated into a sort of crabbish crawl-sprawl interspaced with headlong rolling and general instances of falling on their bums.

From the walkways, various members of the Company shouted their support.

“HURRY UP MY GRANDMOTHER IS FASTER THAN YOU! AND SHE’S ONLY GOT THE ONE LEG!”

“Sweet MAHAL it’ll be next week before we can leave!”

“Are ya tryin’ to WALK on your ARSE?!”

“STOP RUNNING AND LOOK FOR THE ARKENSTONE!”

“If you can call that RUNNING. More like FLAILING.”

“Well said, brother!”

Fíli skidded to a stop after rolling spectacularly down a particularly tall hill, then oofed when Kíli landed full body across his belly. “I’m not looking for the Arkenstone,” he muttered. “Let Thorin come down here and fetch it!”

“Right,” Kíli panted back. “Now you just need to say that loud enough for him to hear.  
”  
“Shut it.” Fíli scrambled to his feet and pointedly did _not_ offer his brother a hand up. “We’re almost to the entrance.”

“THE ARK-EN-STONE!” Thorin bellowed, making both of them twitch, but they sallied forth bravely and scrambled up to the stone entrance, flopping on their bellies like exhausted fish. It certainly _felt_ as if they’d been swimming all that time. 

By the time they managed to pull each other to their feet (thank goodness for stone archways), the Company was clomping down the side stairs toward them. Thorin was, predictably enough, in the lead. 

He was also, predictably enough, looking very grumpy. 

“I told you to stab it in the eye and the chest, not have _tea_ with it!” he growled as he approached Fíli.

Fíli gave him a scathing look that actually caused a sharp intake of impressed breath from the assorted Company. Bilbo looked as if he might burst into applause. “ _You_ threw my _bottle_ ,” he held up the blue glass and gave it a firm shake, “at the _dragon_!”

“Yes! And it would have been a sound tactic if you hadn’t decided to marry it instead of killing it!”

Fíli snarled. His eyes flashed. A hidden breeze lifted strands of gold around his face and transformed him from a somewhat silly worrywart of a dwarf into the Crown Prince of Erebor. “I!” he said, lifting the bottle and – by Mahal’s rock hard buttocks – _poked Thorin in the chest_ with it. “ _I_ got us permission to be all over the hoard! So _you_ , “ another poke for good measure, “can go down there and look for the Arkenstone yourself!”

Thorin blinked at him, thoroughly nonplussed. 

“But Kíli and I are going to _sit down_ for _ten minutes_ and _take a breather._ And maybe, maybe, because we’ve both just spent hours saving the rest of you sorry lot from a _dragon_ thank you for being _no help at all_ , I’ll take off every stitch of clothing he’s wearing and check for injuries _with my tongue_! So I’d suggest you all just _leave us alone_ if you don’t want an image of that burned on your eyeballs for all time!”

Kíli blushed.

But only in a good way.

Fíli grabbed Kíli’s hand (holding tightly to his precious bottle with the other), pulled him sharply to his feet, and dragged him down the hallway, muttering about _uncles_ and _dwarves_ and _stones_ and _shampoo_ and _sound business strategy, just you see._

Behind them came the sounds of eleven dwarves running and leaping in piles of gold. Kíli turned around long enough to see his uncle execute a beautiful swan dive (that…wouldn’t that _hurt_ when he hit the metal?) and Dwalin leaping off in a tight ball before Fíli tugged him around a corner and into a private alcove.

And then Fíli made good on his promise to the Company – never let it be said that Fíli, son of Dis, was dishonest – so he was distracted for a while.

\------


	14. Chapter 14

When Fili and Kili rejoined the others – perhaps a bit ruffled, but who would notice after the last few months? – they found the entire company lying lethargically among the dragon’s gold. A few of them were clearly drooling. Bombur had fallen asleep and Ori was wiggling lazily along one hill of coins like an especially sleepy snake.

They found Bilbo sitting on the edge, looking annoyed. “They’ve been like this for the last half hour or so,” he said. “I don’t see the appeal. It has to chafe.” He huffed and crossed his arms, looking terribly aggrieved. 

“That . . . doesn’t look healthy,” Kili agreed. Dori was wearing a collection of four crowns and trying to get a fifth one on top, but suffered from an insufficient length of arm.

“No . . .” Fili agreed. “Is it some form of gold sickness?” He lay down on his stomach at the edge of the treasury walkway and leaned down, plucking up a couple of the coins and peering at them suspiciously.

“You were in the gold a lot longer and you’re not looking like a comatose bear after Gandalf’s secret pipeweed stash.” 

“Maybe because I had something to focus on.” Fili looked around, found a fair-sized piece of rubble and tested it in his hand. “Something other than gold, I mean.”

“Thorin started first, which is no surprise, since he’s half-crazy anyway,” Bilbo grumped, completely ignoring Kili’s offended (and half-hearted) squawk of indignation. “Then Dwalin and Balin. Ori, Nori, and Bofur held out the longest, but,” he motioned to where Bofur was on his back, a blissful expression on his face as he moved his arms and legs in a lazy drifting motion across the gold, “well, as you see.”

“Nori? Really?” Kili asked with interest as Fili drew his arm back and threw his improvised projectile with unerring accuracy at the wiggling bum of their company scribe.

Ori yelped and sat up, eyes wide and both hands clamping over his abused bottom. “Fili!”

“Hey there, Ori. You’ve just been drafted by the soon-to-be-crowned Prince of Erebor,” Fili informed him. “Help me start getting the rest of them out of there. When Smaug gets back we’re going to get him to light the forges, start some water through the pipes, and wash up the lot of you.” Kili stared at him, but Bilbo nodded eager agreement. “We can’t have the hoard smelling like a barn,” he finished firmly.

When Smaug returned – no one mentioning to Bilbo exactly what the dragon had eaten, though there were some distinctly ponylike hairs stuck between two giant teeth – Fili, Kili, and Ori had managed to fish everyone except an extremely slippery Thorin out of the hoard and lined them up like a particularly hairy and dazed class of dwarflings.

Smaug was not pleased. “I do not care for dwarf kings in my hoard,” he said firmly.

Fíli’s hand tightened, which Kíli knew because the hand under discussion was currently around his waist, but his voice was reasonable and really rather sweet when he said, “We can’t reach him. Perhaps you could give it a try? We’d like everyone out for a bath.”

Smaug grumbled a bit about how he wasn’t a dog, and didn’t fetch, but when Kíli said, “He’s just getting dwarf on everything, isn’t he?” Smaug went into motion, gliding across the gold and grabbing Thorin by one waving boot. 

“Unhand me you great fat lizard!” Thorin bellowed, and Smaug may have accidentally-on-purpose dropped him onto the walkway from a slightly higher point than necessary. Dwalin went to assist as Fíli instructed Smaug on lighting the great forges. 

When the baths were ready, Fíli started to climb up to test the temperature, only to be stopped by a thick claw in front of his chest. 

“I’m not leaving,” he assured Smaug, giving the scales above the claw a rather shaky pat, “just checking to see if it’s a good temperature for bathing.”

“No.” Smaug’s voice was decisive. “I heard once of something called ‘boiling.’ Men do it with fish. It involves hot water and is not acceptable for something which is mine.” He looked over the assembled dwarves, several of whom seemed to have accepted their fates enough to start stripping their clothes off. “The Kíli will do it.”

“It’s Fíli’s idea!” Kíli argued, as Fíli said, “No, I’ll be fine, I’d prefer to do it myself.”

Smaug could not be convinced, however, and so Kíli, grumbling all the way, climbed into the bath for an official big-toe-test, which was declared a success. Fíli and Kíli, of course, hopped right in, but Ori, Oin, Balin, Dori, Nori, Bofur, and Bifur also had the good sense to climb in themselves. The others were claw-delivered by their dragon in a succession of curses and splashes.

“Wash them with the shampoo,” Smaug ordered.

Fili held his bottle protectively against his chest (Smaug had been openly curious about chest hair, and wanted to touch it, but Kili was having none of that). “There’s not enough!” he protested. 

“Then get more!”

Fili planted his hands on his bare hips and sighed up at the dragon. “I can’t. _As I said_ , it’s all the way back in Erid Luin.” 

Smaug narrowed his great cat’s eyes. “The Blue Mountains?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Clean them as you can. Then you and I will go fetch more.”

Fili’s voice rose a bit. “Fetch more?” he squeaked.

“Of course. We can be there and back in a few days.” Smaug lowered his head and eyeballed Nori, whose glorious mane, released from its habitual high maintenance hairstyle, was flowing down his back almost to his knees. “You,” he ordered, “will make sure the rest of them are properly scrubbed.”

Nori eyeballed him right back. “I don’t scrub dwarves,” he said flatly, even as both his brothers grabbed him – Dori on the left and the Ori on the right – and yelled, “ _He will_!”

Kili splashed over by Fili as Smaug quizzed the brothers Ri on how they planned to ensure that the company smelled appropriately attractive without the benefit of Stone Essence. “You’re going to ride home on a dragon to buy shampoo,” he said, because _what else was there to say_?

Fili let his forehead thud against Kili’s shoulder. “Mahal preserve me.”

Kili patted his head in an absent-minded fashion that was probably meant to be soothing. “Does Mahal deal with dragons? Who made dragons? Maybe we should start talking to him. I mean, Mahal’s pretty busy with dwarves, and Yavannah is probably still in hysterics over Bilbo being here, so if there’s someone else we can get on your side that’s probably a good thing-”

“Melkor,” Fíli said tiredly, as he lowered himself into the hot water. 

Kíli looked scandalized. “That kind of language is uncalled for,” he argued. You didn’t just wander around, mentioning that name like you were talking about your annoying baby cousin or something. “If Mother was here, you’d be eating that shampoo for mentioning him.”

The look Fíli gave him made a clear statement about his brother’s opinion of Kíli’s intelligence at this time. “No, Kíli. Melkor created dragons.”

“Oh.” Kíli considered this. “Probably best not to ask him for help, seeing as how he’s fairly evil and all, causing wars and strife and generally pissing off the other Valar…didn’t he? I always clued out a bit when Balin started on about all the less-interesting-not-Mahal Valar, but I think that’s right-”

“Kili.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Right. I’ll do that.”

“Much appreciated.” Fili poured out a careful dollop of Stone Essence and started working it through his hair, stretching it out to the ends and digging in at the roots. “Maybe I can talk the supplier into coming back with me, and you can talk to that she-elf of yours-”

“She is not my she-elf just because I had a conversation with her!”

“-about getting samples of Green Essence and find out who their supplier is for the formula. Then I can stop by Rivendell-”

“On a dragon?!”

“Of course on a dragon,” Fili smirked. “I’ll land right in that courtyard where they circled us on the horses.”

Kili grinned. “Carry on, brother mine.”

“And get some Forest Essence and check with _their_ supplier. Yes.” Fili ducked his head, scrubbed fiercely, and remerged in a stream of hot, steaming water. “This is going to work.” Then he grabbed his brother’s head and, in the interest of his own sense of smell, scrubbed Stone Essence into Kili’s hair as well. He ignored the squawks of protest and flailing hands with all the ease of a big brother who had been in charge of bath time since he was old enough not to drown. 

Kíli was bigger and more clever now, though, so he managed to get away eventually, moving off behind the Ur family in a massive sulk. He disappeared entirely behind the combined wall of Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur, leaving Fíli to bathe in something resembling peace and privacy. 

If Kíli disappeared briefly to poke through a pack or two, Fíli didn’t have to know about it.

\----

Three hours later, Fili crawled up on the dragon’s massive back, gave his brother a few parting instructions about cleaning out the mountain while he was away (“Do not move the gold,” Smaug warned, “and do not try to shoot me when I return or I will be extremely cross”), and held on tight as the dragon beat his wings and took off into the clear morning air.

(Fíli did not know until thirty minutes later that Kili was aboard as a stowaway. It took his brother that long to make it up from the tail.)

(Ah, well. Mother would be pleased.)


	15. Chapter 15

When Kíli popped up beside Fíli on the back of a dragon, a brief scuffle ensued. Fíli was certain he would have won if Smaug hadn’t interfered (he generally did, in wrestling, which frustrated Kíli no end and made Fíli insufferably smug).

“If you don’t behave,” the dragon snapped, “and stop rolling around on my spines, I will turn right back around to Erebor.”

When this didn’t have the desired effect (Kíli had taken advantage of his brother’s momentary distraction at the dragon’s words and had Fíli pinned; he wasn’t going to blithely give up that rare advantage; he went for the ticklish spots), Smaug added, “And then I will _tip you off and eat you._ ”

The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful.

\--

An interesting fact Fíli and Kíli learned on the trip was that dragons could fly for three days straight with no signs of strain. 

Another interesting fact was that they couldn’t hear a pair of dwarves desperately calling for a restroom break very well.

Which almost led to a disaster, but Kíli finally lost his patience and inch-wormed his way up near Smaug’s ear to request the first break. He was assisted by Fíli, who tied a sturdy, if slightly singed and ancient, rope around their waists just in case Kíli slid off. 

Smaug insisted on watching and was markedly unimpressed. “I only do that once every ten years or so. How inconvenient. Will the workers have to do this?”

Fíli and Kíli exchanged a look. Fíli reached out to tuck a wild lock of hair behind Kíli’s ear. It immediately escaped. “Ah. Yes.”

Smaug was thoroughly disgusted. “You will be in charge of that,” he told Kíli, “since you are insufficiently golden to collect.”

Kíli was unimpressed with the job titles Fíli came up with for him. And the smirk. 

\--

The brothers also learned something fascinating about themselves. Sleeping on the back of a flying dragon is really rather soothing, though the constant shifting and steady thrum of muscle made both of them wake up in rather uncomfortable conditions that they agreed could not be handled in their current position. So they both thought very relaxing and/or disturbing thoughts upon waking until they could move around without doing themselves an injury or making a mess.

On the second day, when Fíli had awakened with Kíli’s knee tucked firmly between his legs and Kíli’s breath wafting steadily over a very sensitive portion of his neck and Kíli’s hair whipping around him in the wind (strangely soft and alluring), he went so far as to imagine Azog in one of those ridiculous Rivendell elf-dresses, giving a long and boring speech that would put Thorin to shame. 

It did the trick.

But he was a bit worried he’d never get it up again.

\--

The morning of the third day, when Fíli realized they were almost over the Shire and would be in the Blue Mountains by afternoon, he insisted on stopping and washing up. He scrubbed himself, oversaw Kíli’s scrubbing, and jealously guarded his last handful of Stone Essence. “I’m buying one of every scent,” he swore as he stared mournfully into the empty bottle, “and finding out the distributer.”

Kíli rolled his eyes and scrubbed at his own head while Fíli had his Moment with the shampoo. He peeked out from among the bubbles, just out of Fíli’s line of sight. “What if she won’t tell us who makes it?”

“We have a _dragon_ , Kíli.”

“Oh. Right.” Kíli considered for a moment the implications that he no longer thought _having a dragon_ was a big enough deal to think about on a regular basis.

When they were back aboard (after Smaug gave Fíli an appreciative sniffling and made him solemnly swear on the tomb of his ancestors that his hair would lighten back up as it dried), Fíli studied Kíli with an odd look in his eye that made Kíli eye him back warily. “What?”

“I was just thinking. Maybe we should stop in Rivendell and get some Forest Essence. We could try it on your hair.”

“I am _not_ an elf!” Kíli snarled, because Fíli knew better, you didn’t just go implying that sort of thing to a tall, skinny dwarf with a small nose.

“Better looking like an elf than a deranged porcupine in need of a brush job.”

Kíli glared at him, turned his back, and had _nothing to say_ for the next hour. Which was a pretty good record for him. Kíli, like most people for whom chatting is roughly equivalent to breathing, was not particularly adept at the silent treatment.

\--

It wasn’t every young prince who returned home on the back of a dragon.

Which is probably a good thing. Because the dwarves of the Thorin’s Halls might have overreacted. Just a bit.

\-----

Smaug’s landing was smooth and a bit showy, with a hiss of steam and wings fluttering smoothly into place. He tossed his great head and boomed, “DWARVES, I HAVE ARRIVED TO-”

His words were (in Smaug’s estimation) rudely interrupted with a rising warrior cry, a dozen arrows, and a clash of dwarven armor against Smaug’s knees.

“We didn’t really think this through, did we?” Kíli asked as he peeked over one massive red shoulder blade. Fíli grabbed him and pulled him down as a stray arrow ricocheted off the dragon’s side and nearly took out his brother’s ear.

“Your pointy sticks are always rather cute, but they will not harm me. You’re not a terribly intelligent species, are you?” Smaug reached out a toe and knocked over three warriors, who went down with an entertaining series of clangs.

Fíli sighed and wiggled up Smaug’s neck to his head. As he climbed, he called, “Don’t hurt them! We need them for the company! I explained before that it’s bad business to eat people!”

“I was not harming them!” Smaug blurted defensively, much too quickly for the words to be honest. “I merely – ah - want them to remove their helmets so I may check for goldens!” He knocked the next one over more gently and tapped the helmet with one wicked talon. Fíli and Kíli watched as the warrior’s eyes rolled back and he quietly passed out cold on the scrubby mountain grass.

Kíli felt a flush of pride. Maybe he’d squeaked a _little_ but after being carted around by Smaug, but he hadn’t lost consciousness. And Fíli, of course, had handled it all with aplomb. 

“We’re pretty unusual,” Fíli grunted. He was just reaching the neck. “You won’t find many.” 

“And there aren’t any others as good looking as Fíli,” Kíli shouted loyally. He was biased, but still considered the statement a fact. “Especially his hair!”

It took a couple of minutes for Fíli to clamber all the way up, during which Smaug continued a running commentary on the relative good sense of dwarves, who were now throwing boar spears at his chest. “You’re going to injure yourself when one of them falls on your – see, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Fíli climbed up on the dragon’s head, planted his feet, and slowly stood. Then he threw his shoulders back and bellowed, in his most Thorin-esque voice, “ _Stop attacking us! It’s Fíli and Kíli, princes of Erebor! Sent by King Thorin!”_

No reason to mention they hadn’t actually crowned Thorin yet, and Smaug had said HE would like to be king if they got to wear gold crowns with jewels in them. Fíli was working on convincing him that perhaps there could be a king of Erebor and a king of the company. 

“Fíli? Fíli?!”

They knew that voice.

“Mother!” both princes called at once and there she was, clad in armor, eyes blazing, with a heavy war hammer in her hands. Dis preferred blunt force to the finesse of twin swords or a bow.

“And Kíli?! You two get off that dragon this instant! And you lot! If one of you harms my son you’ll have my hammer to your arse so hard it’ll end up in the front!”

The warriors, not fools and used to serving the princess in the absence of their prince, lowered their weapons but continued to glare suspiciously at their fire-breathing visitor.

Fíli and Kíli slid off, and there were hugs, and Dis fussed over their perceived lost pounds and Kíli’s hair, and then there was the whole business of explaining why, instead of killing the dragon as planned, they had returned riding him.

“To start a shampoo business?”

“Yes.”

“. . . Which required every member of the Company?”

“Yes.”

“And many other dwarves? So he can’t eat us if he wants the business to be a success?”

“Exactly.”

Dis looked a bit misty-eyed. “That’s my boy,” she said, and petted Fíli’s fantastic, wind-swept hair. (Kíli looked like a bird had decided to nest on his head, a strange mixture of tangles and thick wisps floating oddly around his temples; Fíli’s hair was fetchingly and perfectly tousled in an utterly distracting way. Somehow, the wind had blown it dry where usually it took almost a day, and there were gentle curls hidden here and there in the golden mane, which flowed down Fíli’s back and over his shoulders in shining waves that just _perfectly_ framed his handsome face and embarrassed-but-pleased smirk. It was so….just…. _unf_ …that Kíli really wanted some privacy. Right now. As soon as possible. And if it had been anyone but his mother touching that hair the dwarf might have lost a few fingers over the surge of possessive protectiveness rising in Kíli’s chest.)

Apparently his secret feelings were not so secret, because Dis eyed him and said, “Stop salivating over your brother, we have work to do,” and Fíli grinned while Kíli sulked.

By the time they had sent the warriors back inside the mountain, told Smaug to go perch on a _different_ mountain (“Everyone will be very impressed with your majesty,” Fíli assured him), located Reela the shampoo supplier, and settled in for a proper dinner ( _so much food, so much meat, so much perfection!_ ), Kíli’s urge to pin his brother to a wall was somewhat under control.

Somewhat.

Reela was a bit intimidated by dinner with the royal family, but she still held out until Kíli unleashed the full power of his eyes on her (“I know you’re manipulating me but I’m giving in anyway,” she’d said with a sigh) and Fíli offered her a position in sales in the new company (“You convinced me, but I’ll have a proper contract!” and there’d been a look in her eye so shrewd Fíli almost wished he’d brought Balin along), but she did finally reveal where she got her stock over a rich apple tart.

It was . . . disturbing news.

“Rivendell?!” Fíli demanded. “Are you saying that Stone Essence is made by…by…” he couldn’t finish the thought.

“By _elves_?!” Kílis’s horror could not be contained, the words poured out. He reached out protectively and grabbed a handful of thick golden waves. Even Dis gave her eldest son’s hand a consoling pat.

“I don’t know who makes it,” Reela said, “but my supplier is in Rivendell.”

No wonder she kept it to herself.

Doing business with _elves._

…Thorin was going to have a conniption.


	16. Chapter 16

They discussed whether or not they should approach Rivendell in a fashion that would mean less small pointy objects being thrown at Smaug.

But then.

It was _elves._

The Company would never forgive them if they wasted an opportunity to arrive in that uptight, dress-wearing Lord Elwhatever’s courtyard without taking full advantage of their dragon (well, full advantage would be frying them all, so perhaps partial advantage).

So in the end, they followed through on their original plan to land right in the middle of the circular courtyard, with a roar and a burst of flame (“Elves will be _very_ impressed with _flaming_ majesty,” Fíli guaranteed their dragon) that sent the brave elven guards scrambling (“Probably for their mothers,” Kíli said, which Fíli agreed with because that is what any intelligent young dwarf would do in a similar situation. Mothers kicked much arse when the situation called for it. “But how can you tell the mothers from the others?” Fíli asked, and Kíli couldn’t come up with a proper answer despite being friends with an elf they were both 95% certain was female).

Smaug very much wanted to eat just _one_ elf because he’d never tasted one before and they were a particular favorite of his cousin Scatha (dearly departed), and said so. Fíli blanched for a moment, as he had not actually considered the fact that Smaug would want to munch on elves, and he had no real excuse to keep them alive for the good of the company.

Luckily, Kíli came to the rescue.

“They’re elves,” he said. “I’m sure they taste bland. They eat vegetables all the time, like…like turnips. And broccoli. So they probably taste like that. And they can’t possibly be filling. You’d just end up wanting a proper meal five minutes later.”

The look Fíli gave him was one of deep approval and gratitude that Kíli thoroughly appreciated.

When that wasn’t completely convincing, Fíli recovered enough to add that they hoped to take over the elven market at one point, and there would be no one to buy their product if Smaug decided to eat them all. This was met with some definite dragon grumbling, but Smaug agreed not to eat any Rivendell elves. (“Or Lothlorien,” Kíli added, but they both accidentally-on-purpose forgot to mention the Mirkwood elves. “After all,” Kíli said later, “they eat meat and would probably be more nutritious for him. Especially that annoying blond one that kept stroking Uncle’s sword in inappropriate ways. I felt like he needed to get a private room.” Fíli agreed: “Might as well be a private room in a dragon’s stomach.”)

The arrival was beautiful. Just _beautiful._

The elves of Rivendell would reconsider their whole circling-stomping-tow-crushing-horses routine when they had dwarf guests in the future, now that said guests had arrived on a (slightly) flaming _dragon._

It took a bit of doing to get Lord Elrond to calm down, but at least Fíli didn’t have to explain why they were there (yet again, he was getting good at it at least), because Smaug cut through the semi-polite chit-chat with a demand for shampoo, suppliers, and creators “that I might make gold for my hoard and add to my collection.”

Elrond, being an ancient being of great wisdom, survivor of wars, leader of elves, warrior-king, father, philosopher, and gentle lord of the forest, decided he didn’t really give a flying elven flip why they wanted shampoo and a shampoo supplier if providing one would get the dragon out of his kingdom. So while Smaug went off to sample some deer that could be found frolicking peacefully in the surrounding wood, Elrond fetched a pair of (tall, boring-looking, long haired) elves (both in what appeared to be dresses) and settled them down with a special pot of tea.

“It’s a unique blend we use for honored guests,” the elf-lord assured them as he poured it out, “Drink it all and I’ll have more sent out straightaway.” Then he passed a hand through the air in some weird elf-way and said enigmatically, "May you find calm and focus for your discussion, friend dwarves."

The elves felt the need to talk about the weather while they had their first cups and nibbled on a light and airy pastry. “Thank goodness for the pastry,” Kíli muttered at one point, “because this is the worst tea I’ve ever had in my life.”

Fíli snorted agreement. “It tastes like grass and fungus,” he agreed, but then their cups were full again and Balin had admonished them that good diplomats follow local rules of behavior.

So they drank some more.

It really did taste like fungus.

But they rather got used to the taste after a while, and maybe . . . they felt a little mellow. 

Probably time away from the dragon, Kíli thought as he dipped a cookie in his third cup.

“We don’t make it,” the elves said apologetically once everyone had established that the weather was fine and the harvest promising. “We only receive it from our distributer. We can give you samples of every scent though.”

The male looked over Kíli with a discerning eye. “You look like you could use a few cases.”

Fíli made a sort of commiserating noise into his cup that caused Kíli to give him a very nasty eyeball. 

“Your hair, though,” the female said, and she reached out and stroked Fíli’s mane in an utterly inappropriate way, “is exquisite.”

“Thank you,” Fíli said modestly as Kíli reached up and slapped the offending elf-appendage away. The elf looked surprised, but Fíli just continued on as if slapping elves in peaceful tea meetings was normal behavior (and really, it should be, some things were sacred, and the hair upon the head of a dwarf’s beloved was one of them), “The dwarven version is called Stone Essence, and it creates fuller hair, while Forest Essence makes it straighter. I tried some when I was here. Not a good look for dwarves.”

The elves frowned at each other (the female was rubbing her delicate little fingers, pitiful, should learn to keep her hands to herself). “If you don’t want to sell it to dwarves, why do you want samples?”

“Well, there might be some dwarves who could use it,” he _clearly_ glanced at Kíli and Kíli gave him his best death-glare, which was quite a nice one really, “but what I’m really interested in is the original formula.”

The elves’ eyes widened. “You’re planning to take over creation and distribution?!” the female squeaked.

Fíli’s eyes narrowed and his mouth curved into a smirk and Kíli swore the female elf flushed a bit around the ears (he did not blame her). “Yes, I am.” Then the smile turned a bit more friendly. “But of course, you will continue distribution in Rivendell, and can have input into bottle design and scents appropriate for elven buyers.” 

“What if the original developers won’t give you the formula?”

Fíli nonchalantly tossed one misbehaving braid back over his shoulder. “We have a dragon.”

The elves exchanged a look. “This is a valid and convincing argument,” they agreed.

Fíli reached into his coat and pulled out a rolled-up parchment. “If you’d care to look over this contract, you can tell me everything you know about where the shampoo comes from, and we can do business together.” 

He’d had Balin sketch out the contract in Erebor, then properly drawn it up in Erid Luin under their mother’s watchful eye. It was iron-clad, as all proper dwarven contracts are, but also fair to the current distributers. She’d gotten a bit misty eyed over _my boys, improving interspecies relations through business_.

Tea was consumed (eventually becoming less grassy-mushroom and more typical-tea, somewhat to everyone’s disappointment), the contract was signed, some surprisingly mellow conversations about architecture and music was had, and the elves finally confessed, “Our distributor comes once every three months from the Vales of Anduin, which is on the eaves of-”

The brothers groaned. “-the _Mirkwood_ ,” they finished.

Who knew the shampoo business would involve so much travel?

\----

The next morning, Kíli asked for some of the tea to go, but Elrond said it didn’t travel well.

“You know,” Fíli said with a frown, “Gandalf once said the same thing about his pipeweed.”

“Big folk,” Kíli said grumpily (he had a bit of an unexpected headache, and the light was quite bright indeed), “should learn to share or preserve properly.”

Fíli reached out and gently massaged Kíli’s neck in commiserating agreement. The morning, he felt, was entirely too sunny, and certainly the birds could tone it down… 

…just a bit.


	17. Chapter 17

There was no way for Smaug to enter the Mirkwood. 

“You can go back to Erebor for now and pick us up in two days’ time,” Fíli told him.

Smaug eyed him suspiciously. “I do not like _those_ dwarves so well. They are noisy. They are not aesthetically pleasing.” He sniffed. “And they smell distinctly unpleasant.”

“Hey! We made them take a bath!” Kíli argued. He was still recovering from the image of Thorin handing naked from a dragon’s paw, and didn’t want anyone underemphasizing the horror he had experienced.

“They will become odiferous again, and you,” he snuffled happily at Fíli’s head, “would not be there to smell lovely as needed.”

Fíli rubbed his temples. “There’s no way you can go into the Mirkwood! The trees are too close together!” 

The dragon sat back on his haunches and wrapped his long tail around his legs. He looked for the entire world like an extremely large, scaly, dangerous, and stubborn cat. “You could attempt to run away.”

“Where? You’re a dragon. Where could I go that you couldn’t follow?”

Smaug tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at the forest.

“Oh.”

Kíli looked offended. “That forest is full of _elves_. As if we’d want to be stuck there!”

Smaug wouldn’t budge. He was a dragon of a very suspicious nature who didn’t want to spend two days with the rest of the Company (in all honesty, the princes could understand this, having spent months in said company. They did point out that both Bofur and Bilbo were pleasant companions, and Bilbo always smelled nice compared to dwarves, but Smaug refused to be convinced. He even implied that Thorin might attempt to kill him, which was, he pointed out righteously, just rude after he allowed the dwarves into the home he rightfully stole). They argued for well over an hour, but in the end they could only reach a compromise: Kíli was allowed to go into the wood, but Fíli would stay and keep Smaug company.

“If he tells you to take your clothes off,” Kíli muttered in his brother’s ear as Smaug curled up for a snooze, “don’t do it.”

“Kíli!”

“I see the way he eyes you, Fíli. You’re lucky he _is_ a dragon or he’d be writing you love poems and composing ballads to your hair.”

Only Kíli got to secretly-in-his-head create love poetry to Fíli’s braids. 

Fíli looked over at the dragon, who had his nose tucked under the tip of his tail and his wingtip covering his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Kíli did not respond to this clearly ludicrous statement. 

Fíli sighed. Sometimes brothers simply cannot be reasoned with, and neither can betrotheds. Only a truly insane dwarf such as himself would put all his gems in one basket like this. 

Ah well.

Kíli was very cute when he was jealous, his messy hair fluttering in the wind around his narrow face, dark eyes all fierce, eyebrows in full Durin Mode and just a hint of a pouting lower lip. While clearly this could be an excellent opportunity to tease his brother mercilessly, he would take pity on that lip.

“So your job,” Fíli said in an obvious change of subject “is to find that elf and flirt with her-”

Kíli scowled at him.

Fíli blinked. “What?”

Clearly he had not taken his pity appropriately.

“You’re supposed to be _jealous_ if I flirt with other people, you-you-” Kíli searched for a suitably hurtful name that would match the sting in his heart, but there was nothing ugly enough coming to mind. “You _son of elves and half-brother of Men_.”

Fíli frowned at him. “Kíli, you flirt like breathing. What you think is friendly conversation is _clearly_ flirting. I’d have decapitated half of Erid Luin by now if I didn’t know that.” He huffed, and then a dangerous glint came into his eyes. “Of course, if you ever followed through on it, I’d shave your head and use the hair to stuff the pillow you’d wet with your tears alone in bed every night with only your freezing feet and bruised balls for company.” The last bit came out as a thoroughly sexy and very sincere growl. “And I’d rather you not know what I’d do to the other party unless it ever comes up. You’re too young.”

Kíli beamed at him. “That’s better.” And he rewarded his appropriately jealous beau with a kiss. Fíli kissed him back, in something of an alpha male mode now of which Kíli approved, and there was a twenty minute conversational hiatus.

The grass was a bit prickly, but they were dwarves. They could take it.

“When you flirt with her,” Fíli continued from a lazy and nude sprawl with a brother, various love-bites, and, well, splashed across his chest, “try to do a better job of it. We need the distributer, but if you can’t get there, you need to get her to hand over at least one sample of Green-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Kíli whacked Fíli right in the chest hairs and pushed up on one elbow. “ _Do a better job of it_?”

Fíli gave him a _look_. “Kíli,” he said, capturing the hand that whacked him and holding it over his heart, “you are the love of my life. You are my brother, and my beloved, and my treasure of all treasures. To me, your health and happiness are worth more than all the gold in Erebor, much less a mere one-fourteenth share. And you’re lucky for that, because if you’d had to pick me up somewhere along the way, you would have failed miserably. Do you know what the last line you used on me was?” Kíli’s brows drew together, _daring_ Fíli to continue. Fíli, who had leaped feet-first at an angry dragon with a stinging eyeball, continued blithely on. “You said, and this is a direct quotation here, ‘Are you shining brighter than the stars or is that the sun in my eyes?’”

“That doesn’t count! I was still waking up! And the sun was behind your _hair_ you don’t know what that _looks like_ , Fíli-”

“How about, ‘Is that a throwing axe in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?’”

“That was a legitimate question, have you _met_ yourself-”

“And the first thing you said to that she-elf, the _captain of the guard_ – was an invitation to _look in your trousers._ She’d have been well within her rights to punch you in the nuts. And I wouldn’t have tried to stop her, even if I could.”

Kíli pouted. 

Fíli smirked. “I bet the only reason she didn’t was because she’d’ve had to kneel to reach them.”

Kíli whapped him hard enough that Fíli gave a little bark of pain.

And he did not regret it.

\-------

Ten minutes later, the entire argument concerning Kíli’s flirting skills became moot. 

Because the brothers broke into a fight fit to wake a dragon.

Literally.

You see, Fíli looked in Kíli’s bag.

And there was something there.

Something Kíli had been keeping secret for far too long.


	18. Chapter 18

Fíli was being helpful. 

Kíli had many excellent qualities. He was good-natured. He read people well. He put people at ease. He was one of the most loving and caring dwarves of Fíli’s acquaintance. And he was, of course, an excellent marksman with the bow. (He was also very enthusiastic when they were . . . alone. Which. Always a plus.)

However, even loving him to distraction as he did, Fíli knew that Kíli was a long way from perfect. He could list a number of weaknesses (as any decent elder brother would), counted among them his inability to flirt effectively, his hair’s refusal to braid properly, his tendency to kick when he had weird dreams, and the fact that he was terribly and permanently disorganized. 

This was only made worse by the fact that he had randomly tossed some things in a bag and leapt on a dragon’s tail at the last minute.

So while Kíli was sleeping in preparation of the next morning’s trip into Mirkwood (on his own, and Fíli _did not approve_ , but one must as one must when dealing with dragons and shampoo), Fíli helpfully turned his small satchel over and shook the contents out on the ground. He’d just make sure Kíli had what he needed and, if necessary, he’d move over some items from his bag-

A bottle bounced off his boot.

Fíli frowned.

And picked it up.

\---

Kíli woke up when his brother hit him in the head.

…And grabbed his shirt.

…And dragged him to a sitting position.

…And shoved something in his still very sleepy face.

“What is _this_ , brother?” Fíli demanded in a growl that would have been very, very sexy directed at anyone else. Directed at Kíli, it was just disturbing. 

Kíli yawned and blinked, very carefully and slowly, in an attempt to get his eyes to focus. “Issa bottle?” he guessed.

“It was in your _bag_!”

And suddenly, Kíli was wide awake. 

Because he knew that bottle, now. The delicate, fluted design. The strangely light weight. The slippery contents. The etched lettering.

_Wind Essence._

“Ah…it’s…”

“You gave me a _hard time_ for _months-_ ”

“Well you see-“

“You called me _obsessed-_!”

“It’s just that-”

“You _questioned my business strategy_!”

(Kíli felt a bit bad at that last one, because Fíli could really make those pretty eyes a lot more pitiful than most people knew, and, well. That expression just broke his heart a little. Dwarves, despite rumors to the contrary, are not truly made of stone.)

(He was still a brother, however. And there was pride at stake here. He couldn’t just roll over and let Fíli _win._ It would be a dishonor to siblings everywhere, and he didn’t need any more dishonor on his reputation, thank you.)

He crossed his arms and lowered his eyebrows and tilted his chin down in his _very best_ Heir of Durin face, which put Fíli’s _to shame_ take that with your _light eyebrows_ and _gorgeous hair_ , arsehat. “You shouldn’t have been in my stuff!”

Fíli cuffed him.

Kíli snarled and leapt on top of him.

“If you weren’t such a SLOB-”

“If you weren’t so NOSY-”

“HA! If you want to talk about _noses_ -”

Oh no that was against the rules, one did not make comments about Kíli’s _nose_ , no, this was worse than implying Kíli should use elf-shampoo, this was a _direct assault on his face_ and that was just _inappropriate_ (ugly, pointy thing that his nose was, you didn’t just – you didn’t _point it out_ ).

He kicked Fíli off and flashed a feral grin when Fíli flew back a foot. “Sorry, brother,” he said sweetly, “it’s just that I forget how small you are sometimes.” 

Fíli’s eyes narrowed. His hands flexed.

The sound of cracking knuckles split the air.

 _Oh,_ Kíli thought. _Shit._

\----

Smaug broke the fight up. 

He accomplished this by sweeping Fíli protectively against his chest (it was very _very_ hot) and pinning Kíli in a cage made of his claws. “You will not harm the Golden Fíli,” he growled.

“He _started_ it!” 

“I did _not_! You have been _secretly shampooing_!”

They glared at each other. Kíli’s lip was (slightly) split. There was a good chance Fíli was going to have a bruised jaw. They were both covered in leaves.

Fíli huffed. “Oh, let him go. Just because he’s a trickster and a liar and keeping secrets from me, his brother, best friend, and lover, is no reason to squish him.” Something glinted in one blue eye. “ _Yet._ ”

Smaug eyed Kíli in a way that reminded him, utterly bizarrely, of his mother. Then he lifted his foot and sat back on his haunches, still cupping Fíli protectively against his chest. Fíli shrugged and wriggled around until he was sitting on the edge of the dragon’s palm, feet dangling.

(One does not simply discard the advantage of dragon-back-up in the middle of a sibling squabble.)

“Now about this shampoo,” he said, and he _also_ eyeballed Kíli in a way that was _exactly_ like their mother. 

No dwarf, no matter how strong and brave and well-trained, could be expected to take _that_ without caving.

“It’s Thorin’s,” Kíli blurted. “I just…I borrowed it. Um. At Beorn’s. And sort of. Never gave it back.”

Fíli’s mouth fell open. Kíli had been betraying him for weeks with _secret shampoo sessions_?! “ _Thorin’s_?! Thorin was using Essence and you didn’t _tell_ me you sneaky little _liar_ -”

“Name-calling is not appropriate behavior for a crown prince of Erebor,” Kíli pointed out in a fair impression of Balin.

“Stuff it.” Fíli answered in a fully realized impression of himself, and drummed his fingertips against the red scales. “Well, you’re still a mess. So it can’t work that well.” Fíli refused to think about how often he had felt a deep need to brush hair from Kíli’s adorably under-bearded cheeks over the last couple of weeks.

Kíli scratched his ( _off-limits Fíli!_ ) nose. “I think it does. I mean, it works for Uncle. I’ve only used it a few times.”

Fíli frowned. “Let me down,” he told Smaug. Smaug did so, keeping a close eye on Kíli as Fíli leaned over and plucked the bottle off the ground. “It’s so light,” he murmured.

“Yeah. I think that’s the point.”

Fíli walked over and dropped easily in front of him, their knees almost touching. Truce officially called, then. “Meaning?”

“Meaning…” Kíli said, “haven’t you ever noticed that Thorin’s hair flutters in the wind?”

The look Fíli gave him implied he felt Kíli was going insane. “He stands on cliffs. A lot.”

Kíli shook his head. “No, listen to me here. Thorin’s hair _flutters all the time_. Fíli, it fluttered when we were in Hobbiton, surrounded by little hills to block the wind. It fluttered when it was caked with blood after the Carrock. It fluttered _in the Mirkwood._ ” He leaned forward, and as he did, locks of hair lifted around his head-

And _fluttered._

There was no wind.

None.

Fíli’s mouth fell open. 

Kíli lifted a hand and brushed at the shivering locks, which teased around his dark eyes in a most becoming way. “I was just testing it, see, and then I was going to tell you about it.”

 _In Beorn’s,_ Fíli thought as he watched the flutter and his fingers itched, yet again, to reach out and do something about it, _in the forest, while he was fail-flirting with that elf. His hair. Inside a_ dungeon _and still begging to be tousled! That-that-that-lying_ brat!

The bottle rolled from Fíli’s stunned fingers and wafted strangely to the grass.

Kíli plucked it up and held it out.

“Fíli, do you realize what this means?” Kíli asked, in the most very serious voice of which he was capable (Fíli beat him in this particular department pretty handily). “It means Thorin’s hair is _magic._ ”


	19. Chapter 19

The existence of Wind Essence, and its undeniable effects on even Kíli’s demented hair, demanded a re-evaluation of their current strategy.

“Could elves make shampoo like this?” Kíli asked as Fíli rolled the bottle between his hands, watching it occasionally barely-float above his palm. 

“I don’t know. I know they have some kind of healing abilities, and I know they,” Fíli wrinkled his nose thoughtfully and Kíli gave in to the urge to kiss it because, well, Fíli’s _nose_ (Fíli was so accustomed to this behavior it didn’t even break his concentration), “maybe they make things grow? I don’t think they can make magical objects.”

Over Fíli’s head, Smaug snorted. The resultant mini-hurricane sent hair flying everywhere, and Fíli cursed when his braids twisted around to whack him in the eyebrows. “ _Please_ turn your head. Think of it like sneezing.” He ran protective palms over his precious hair. “I prefer being a golden dwarf to a snotty dwarf.”

Smaug humphed. But he turned his head to do it. “No. Elves do not make this magic. Only,” he sneered, showing a long line of ferocious teeth, “Maiar.”

“Only whatsits?” Kíli asked, as Fíli said, “You have something in your teeth, here,” to Smaug, and motioned to his own mouth.

Smaug frowned and lifted a giant claw ineffectively to his lower lip. “Further back,” Fíli said, “and a bit to the right.”

Kíli rolled his eyes. Expansively. “ _Fíli._ ”

“What?” Fíli stood up, grabbed a handy limb, and tapped the tooth in question. “Here.” Smaug made an appreciative noise.

“Why are you worried about a _giant bone_ in a _dragon’s teeth_?” 

Dragon and dwarf looked at him simultaneously. Fíli’s eyebrows rose. The arcing scales over Smaug’s eyes did the same. 

Kíli scowled. 

Where did a dragon get off looking as much like Kíli’s brother as _Kíli_ did?

(As a kid, Kíli had often wished his brother looked more like him, or rather that he looked more like Fíli. As an adult, the thought of participating in the sort of private-sporting-activities they preferred with a mirror-image was....disturbing. But, well. Dragons should not share Fíli's facial expression _anyway_.)

“Because it looks uncomfortable,” Fíli answered. “Stop being ridiculous.” He tossed the stick, Smaug tossed the bone (was that…an..entire _pony leg bon_ e?), and Fíli rejoined Kíli in the grass. “What were you saying?”

“Something about May Days,” Kíli answered, and pointedly wrapped an arm around Fíli while pointedly pulling Fíli against his side and pointedly resting his cheek on Fíli’s hair.

Smaug narrowed his great golden eyes a bit.

Kíli smiled at him. Winningly.

He couldn’t see Fíli’s face, but he assumed some eyes were rolled before Fíli relaxed against him. Fíli liked to pretend he was not a dedicated cuddler who took shameless advantage of being smaller than his lover, but Kíli wasn’t fooled and hadn’t been for years.

“Maiar,” Smaug corrected, in a tone that struck the dwarves as a bit grumpy. “They can create enchanted objects.” He sat back and trailed a petulant claw through the grass, leaving a deep gouge and unearthing one terrified snake and two moles. “I believe you call them _Istari._ ”

The dwarves blinked at him. Fíli said, “That sounds elfy.” Kíli was fairly certain “elfy” wasn’t a word, but the idea got across.

Smaug poked moodily at the ground this time, uprooting a small sapling. “Perhaps _wizard_?”

Kíli’s breath caught. 

Against his now-stilled ribs, Fíli’s breath caught.

“A wizard?” Fíli asked. “Like Gandalf?”

“Gandalf’s wandering around convincing dwarf kings to kil-” Fíli’s _very strong ow_ elbow dug into Kíli’s side, “-Ki-ki-ndly greet dragons in lost dwarf kingdoms. He doesn’t have time to make shampoo.”

Smaug lifted the claw and poked sulkily at a great oak, splitting it neatly in two. “Gandalf the Grey is not the only wizard.”

Fíli tapped his fingertips against Kíli’s leg thoughtfully. “That…friend of Gandalf’s. With the rabbits.”

“Radagast?”

“He liked…nature-y things, didn’t he?”

“Judging by the extreme amount of bird crap in his hair, yes,” Kíli answered dryly. There had been a distinct…aroma in the area of the brown wizard. It was much less pleasant than the strong scent of pipeweed that followed Gandalf about ( _good_ pipeweed, _special_ pipeweed, and Kíli fully intended to try it again someday when he didn’t have any ponies to watch [stupid trolls]). “He liked nature-y things.”

“And Gandalf mentioned that he lived in Rhosgobel, which is,” Fíli shifted enough to pull out a rolled-up map (handily and easily stolen from Thorin, napping off a gold-swim and dragon-assisted bath time) and spread it on Kíli’s knees. He ran a finger over it, not apparently thinking about what was underneath. Kíli wiggled and told his body that _now was not the time._ “Here. In the Mirkwood.” And he tapped the map firmly right over a sensitive spot on Kíli’s thigh. “Which means,” Fíli’s voice took on a sharper, more satisfied edge, “maybe there’s no reason for you to go flirt with that she-elf after all.”

Kíli nuzzled the forge-fresh hair happily, pleased with this jealousy in Fíli’s voice. As it _should_ be. 

Smaug didn’t look happy. “I thought we would be home in my hoard by now.”

Fíli shifted away from Kíli, and Kíli’s warm-happy-smug-glow went with him as his brother crossed to pat the foot not currently stripping a hulking evergreen of all its needles. “I have a feeling about this one,” he said with a glint in one blue eye (very sexy, very _prince of Erebor_ ). “It makes sense. The varying products, delivery from the Mirkwood, nature themes , and the way each one does something different. How could it be anything but magic?” There was a sharp edge to his grin that made Kíli shiver a bit as he hopped to his feet. “Let’s go to Rhosgobel and talk to a wizard.”

\-------

Smaug had never eaten a wizard. 

He wondered what they tasted like.

Spicy?

Was magic spicy?

He didn’t know. His diet had been largely animals, dwarves, and men. Animals were all different, of course, depending on fat content. Men were good, though best after a bit of roasting. Dwarves were tough and stringy, and really, he’d as soon not eat them. 

Especially now.

Now that he knew dwarves could be so.

_Golden._

(Or so _sooty._ And annoying. And unnecessarily hands-y.)

(That’s what they called them, right? Hands?)

Well! Soon they would be finished and he would go home, and he would put the Fíli in his hoard where he belonged, then he would curl around him and _good luck_ to the sooty Kíli, trying to climb over Smaug’s majestic backside and get to Smaug’s collectible. Perhaps he’d consider letting the Kíli in occasionally, so they could do the thing they did that clearly made the Fíli happy, even if it was messy and noisy and…unpleasant. Maybe. He’d see. Obviously, something so disgusting couldn’t actually be _necessary_ to the Fíli. A good conversation would be preferable. 

Clearly the Kíli was a terrible conversationalist, and the Fíli was forced to turn to other forms of entertainment.

When they were home, Smaug could protect his collectible from such revolting behavior.

“I think this is it!”

Speaking of whom.

Smaug turned his head to look at his shoulder, where his Fíli was perched, peering at the piece of paper he carried everywhere that told him where to go. The Kíli, looking disheveled and coal-ish and petulant and generally uncollectible, was seated behind him, all wrapped around with his pointy bottom face bit on the Fíli’s shoulder, looking at the paper. 

Smaug was about _done_ with Kilis. 

“You sure?” the Kíli asked. 

The Fíli smiled. He had nice teeth, all sort of flat and cute and pretty useless-looking. “I’m sure.” He looked up at Smaug. “You can let us off here.” He tilted his head and the golden hair shifted over his shoulder, all soft and. Sparkling in the sun and. It made Smaug want to smile back. “You’re sure you want to meet them too?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Dragons were sure about _everything._ That was part of being a _dragon._ Melkor didn’t bring them about to sit around debating issues and fussing over how to best decorate their caves. Dragons were creatures of action (and long naps on golden hoards, naturally; one had to have plenty of rest for resulting action).

“What if they have a way to hurt you?” 

Smaug snorted (remembering to turn his head at the last moment). “Then they are welcome to _try_ ,” he said, and showed his own lovely, sharp teeth. 

The Fíli looked suitably impressed.

And the Kíli looked suitably irritated.

Good.

Smaug shifted and let his passengers slide off. The movement was much more graceful now than the first scrambling attempts, when one of them (certainly the Kíli, he was certain) kept catching on his scales.

“How do we get their attention?” the Fíli asked.

“Yell Radagast’s name and hope he’s home?” the Kíli offered.

Smaug shook his head briskly (such ridiculous ideas the Kíli had, Smaug was much more useful than tha, as the Fíli would now see and appreciate), then threw his head back and _bellowed._

The Fíli and Kíli grabbed each other and stared up at him.

“Wizards always come to dragon calls,” Smaug told them, carefully watching his Fíli for a reaction to his certain-to-succeed plan. “They like to show off how much they know.”

And out of the woods walked a brown wizard with a bird on his head.

“See?”

\----

The brothers had been worried about how to get the wizard to come out and talk, even ignoring the fact that they were arriving with a dragon his fellow wizard had been trying to kill. They’d spent the better part of an hour trying to come up with a way to approach Radagast (although admittedly distracted for a ten-minute discussion on whether or not those giant rabbits were actually people who had bothered him and been transformed as punishment, which fell into an argument of who would make the cutest terrifyingly-large-and-fas- rabbit), decided they would just try and “act like Bilbo,” shortly before Smaug announced they had arrived.

It turned out they shouldn’t have worried.

Radagast was a kind and simple soul who preferred the company of animals to that of men. And, well.

A dragon is a giant talking animal, apparently.

“Oh, you’re _lovely_ ,” Radagast beamed, and Fíli nearly said thank you before the (odiferous) brown wizard stepped forward to stroke Smaug’s leg appreciatively. “A nice, strong red. But oh _dear_ , what is _this_?” and he disappeared beneath the dragon’s chest to poke and prod at talk to himself about _how to cover up that horrible missing scale, poor darling._

Kíli and Fíli exchanged a look, and shrugged. “Mr. Radagast?” Kíli tried, peeking around the dragon’s leg (Smaug had his head upside down, trying to see, and was pouting notably as he told the story of a great black arrow that struck him just there, it was _quite_ uncomfortable and not at _all_ attractive or befitting a dragon of his stupendousness).

Radagast poked his head out. “Yes?” he asked, looking well over their heads a moment before redirecting his gaze down. “Oh, hello.” He beamed at them. “What can I do for you?”

“Um,” Kíli blinked, nonplussed. “Shampoo?” he blurted impolitely, and took an elbow to the ribs for his trouble. He stomped on Fíli’s foot in retaliation.

“Ah!” Radagast said with another wide smile. “You’ll be wanting to talking to the twins then.” He made little shooing motions at them. “You just head right on down that path, and you’ll find them at the cottage.”

Fíli frowned. “What path?”

“That one-oh. Oh me. Yes.” Radagast waved his magical-walking-stick-thing (there were clearly bird turds all over it, but why should that be a surprise when compared to the wizard’s _hat_ ), and two trees bent away from each other in a strangely polite way. “There you are then. Now you just run along, and I’ll see to your dragon here.” He smiled up at Smaug.

Smaug looked at him consideringly and licked his lips. Just a bit.

“No,” Fíli said.

“But-”

“No.”

Smaug sighed. “Oh, very _well_.”

Kíli snickered. Fíli rolled his eyes, took his brother’s hand, and tugged him into the woods.


	20. Chapter 20

“So he knew what I meant about shampoo,” Kíli said after a couple of minutes of meandering along the sun-dappled path. Adorable forest creatures kept hopping by, being fluffy and so _relaxed,_ Kíli really wished he had his bow.

Well. Maybe not.

Too easy. 

(…And if Radagast babied dragons, maybe Kíli didn’t want to know what he’d do to a dwarf who messed with his bunnies.)

“Which is a good sign, I suppose,” Fíli was saying. “And _very_ smoothly handled, by the way. Not at all like a deer who’s just scented a hunter with an arrow pointed between its eyes.” Fíli smirked at him.

Sometimes, Kíli found it personally offensive that Fíli’s obnoxious smirks were so attractive. It interfered with his desire to smack them off that also obnoxiously attractive _face._

Kíli was so busy muttering internally at how annoying Fíli’s face was (especially his _nose_ , that nose, Kíli just wanted to punch it and kiss it and nibble on it simultaneously and that was just – argh) that he didn’t even notice they’d reached a cottage until Fíli raised a hand and banged on the door.

\-----

So the twins were wizards.

Blue wizards.

(So identified because they both wore blue, and Fíli considered for a moment if the color or the clothes came first.)

And twins, it turned out, are brothers who are born at the same time.

Which was just.

…Strange.

(Apparently some Men and Hobbits and Elves were like cats and had litters of babies or something. Maybe they required less constant care than dwarf babies, as many nightmarish memories of baby-sitting their cousin Gimli could attest. Two Gimlis would have driven any dwarf mother utterly mad.)

“We used to travel a lot,” the one on the left said (they also _looked_ the same, though they had different names that seemed to immediately wiggle out of the brain), “but there was a cash-flow issue.”

The one on the right nodded. They were all drinking tea (much better, Kíli noted, than the elf tea, without that weird sort of aftertaste, just nice, strong leaves) in the house that must belong to Radagast because the corners were. Unmentionable. Kíli tried not to look at them too closely. At least the wizards themselves were clean. “Saruman especially, you have _no_ idea! He gets all these huge, grandiose schemes. I swear he plans to save the world through throwing gold at any species he can find until they build him a tower and then screw everything up.”

“So we needed money,” Left said.

“We tried a few things,” Right added, “but nothing really took off, not until the shampoo.”

They exchanged a proud and fond look. Then Left leaned forward and said, “You’ve been using the Stone Essence line. That was my particular work.” He grinned, looking immensely pleased. “My brother said dwarves wouldn’t be interested, but what race appreciates good hair better than dwarves?”

Fíli shot Kíli a look not unlike Left’s.

Kíli ignored him in much the same manner as Right. 

Right said, “Wind Essence was mine, but it’s the newest and it’s difficult to market.” He sighed. “Some people are just nervous about magic. I don’t understand. I have _so_ many ideas. Oh, I want to do this line that just _sparkles_ ,” his eyes went distant a moment before focusing on Fíli, “it would look just perfect on you.”

Fíli opened his mouth, _obviously_ to ask some unnecessary and random question about shampoo (it was actually about whether a dwarf might combine Wind and Stone Essence, so he was right), but Kíli cut him off neatly.

“Do you make it all here?” He looked around, letting his nose wrinkle up as a cockroach the size of a small puppy scuttled across the floor.

Right sighed. “Yes. I’m afraid so.”

Left looked terribly sad. “It limits our output. And we keep losing batches because of fur or feathers in the formula.”

“And it’s so difficult to experiment only on ourselves.”

“And Radagast.” They exchanged a dark look. “When we can knock him unconscious and pop him in the tub.”

Fíli started to say something again, but a hand on his thigh stopped him. This was Kíli’s turn, Kíli’s time to shine. Fíli had good ideas, sure, and made dragons fall in love with him, but Kíli was good with _people_ (and elves, thank you). Kíli leaned forward. “We could offer you better accommodations. We have a mountain, recently reclaimed from a dragon, with luxurious living quarters and huge work areas. We have dwarves desperate for something to do. We have enough gold to start up the company and specialists who could help you improve bottle designs. We can discuss fair payment, and you can decide whether to send the money to whats-his-face or keep it for yourself.” 

“Gandalf won’t like that,” Left said.

“Then Gandalf can take it up with an entire mountain of well-armed, pissy dwarves who have had quite enough of his company for present, and a dragon,” Kíli answered. 

Left and Right’s eyebrows went up.

“The dragon has a mad crush on my brother.” Kíli motioned to Fíli, who sputtered and made a mess of his shirt and the table with scattered tea. “It’s not a problem. I mean, he’s carried us as far as Erid Luin _and_ visited Rivendell. As long as he can keep Fíli, he’ll be happy.”

Fíli scowled at him.

The twins still looked unconvinced. 

Kili glanced around the room. He took in the small animals, nests, dirty dishes, reptiles, insects, and extensive collection of animal scat. Lowering his eyebrows and twisting his lips, Kíli leaned forward on one elbow and said, “And we _do not allow pets_ inside the mountain.”

The blue wizards, ancient, powerful, and wise, exchanged a look.

“We want separate rooms,” they said. “With built-in baths, we know you dwarves have the best. And hot water.”

“Done,” Kíli agreed, and held out a hand.

 

**Epilogue 1: The Business**

The Blue Wizards settled in quite well at Erebor.

While Smaug was tossing dwarves out of his hoard (he had to dig quite deep indeed for Thorin Oakenshield, who was still searching around for the Arkenstone - he’d had no luck because he had neglected to check Bilbo Baggins’ pocket; Bilbo Baggins would later report that Thorin was _clearly unhinged and no rock was going to help with that_ as he handed the thing to Fíli for safe-keeping), the wizards selected a pair of apartments from the old Royal Wing and went on a tour of the forges. 

“It’ll do,” Left said.

“But this terrible curse on the gold is a _mess,_ ” Right added.

“Indeed,” Left concurred, “absolutely disturbing. I don’t want that around my formulas. The bad vibes could have a negative effect on the product line.”

“We’ll need to see about that first,” they decided, “while you set up this,” and they presented Fíli and Kíli with detailed plans for a factory and distribution center (which were passed on, wisely, to Bombur, Ori, and Bifur).

While Balin, Dwalin, and Bofur started estimates on returning the mines to operation (five years was a very optimistic approximation), Bilbo headed home to the Shire with the reappearing and very flustered Gandalf (he did not approve of the new marketing strategy and attempted to dissuade the twins, but the twins were enjoying their indoor plumbing and new laboratory facilities far too much to care), and the others were set to the task, under Smaug and Fíli’s careful eyes, of setting up the shampoo factory and distribution facility.

“This will keep Erebor on its feet until we can get the mines up and running,” Fíli said, and indeed he was right. 

As the scattered people of Erebor returned to the mountain, leadership of the Essence Line of Superior Hair Products fell on the members of the Company, at Fíli’s insistence. Balin, Dwalin, and Bifur continued to prepare the mines under Thorin’s direction. Ori and Dori took on the task of redesigning bottles (along with Kíli who, because of his ability to get along well with anyone, including _elves_ , was able to make contacts within the elvish communities to improve the Mirkwood, Lorien, and Rivendell lines). The new bottles were line-specific and extremely well-received, especially among the elves. Gloin managed the money end along with Smaug, who could keep up with the flow of gold effortlessly but lacked Gloin’s brilliance for making sure there was a high return for their investment (“He is not golden,” Smaug informed Fíli, “but he is very useful otherwise”). Bombur headed the restoration efforts for the residential areas of the mountain so the workers could return. Nori spent a great deal of his time traveling and finding out about (read: spying on and undermining) the competitors who inevitably popped up as the company became more and more successful and widely known. Oin continued in his role as healer, of course, while also taking care of the ravens who were kept quite busy indeed, especially those who ran the routes to Hobbiton, Rivendell, and other centers of distribution. 

Overseeing everything was Fíli, generally from the treasure room and within eyesight of Smaug (other dwarves came to the mountain, including a small handful of blonds, but Smaug declared them “not the same” and, though insisting they be given jobs in the treasury – a problem for one of them, whose skill set definitely didn’t lie in the area of basic mathematics – it was Fíli who remained his favorite. Standing on the back of a dragon certainly gave the Golden Prince of Erebor a sense of authority that assisted in keeping the business running smoothly). Kili assisted him, acting as Fíli’s eyes and ears throughout the mountain. Their wedding was an exceedingly grand affair, followed by an epic sulk from Smaug when they took three days off for a honeymoon in Dale. In return for a large sum of money Gloin assured Smaug would return within ten years with significant interest “because the main hub of distribution outside the mountain won’t be a shambles,” Bard was kind enough to claim ignorance when Smaug came poking his nose around Dale in search of the newlyweds. He was especially clingy upon his golden collectible’s return.

Bofur escorted Bilbo home to Hobbiton, and by the time they arrived, was ready to send back a letter outlining their suggestions for what became the extremely popular _Shire Essence_ line of products. _Shire Essence_ , designed for lustrous but manageable curls and in a variety of pastry scents, was an immediate best-seller, “Produced by Hobbiton’s very own Dwarf!” a fascinating local oddity (Bofur never quite got around to going back to Erebor and reportedly abandoned boots entirely within six months).

Tauriel, the female elf-guard who had attempted to supply Fíli with Green Essence samples and successfully saved and returned his beloved Stone Essence bottle (so that all may live), came on board at the invitation of Kíli, bringing ideas for improvement of the Green Essence line and serving as an envoy to elven distributers. The extensive travel required by her new position (happily away from the Mirkwood) caused her to request a travel line of cake shampoos, which came to be known as _Quest Essence_. She, Bofur, and Bilbo handled distribution with cleverness (Tauriel), class (Bilbo), and panache (Bofur), making Quest Essence a must-have among Rangers and Hunters, and opening the way for the race of Men into the Essence family, which produced a huge return on the initial investment (Men, it turned out, come with all kinds of hair, and were open to every line).

Smaug insisted on the agreed-upon _Dragon Fire_ line, for which the twins were given full freedom. Right was especially pleased, and they developed a line with built-in sparkle “from shards of the Arkenstone” (meaning that each contained a flake of the Arkenstone and other, less valuable gems to provide the rest of the glitter that “grants majesty and shine in even the darkest of places”). 

Naturally, Thorin pitched an absolute fit over this use of the Arkenstone. 

“What else are we going to do with it?!” Fíli demanded. “Keep it around until it drives you crazy and you’re swimming naked in the gold again?”

“We don’t _discuss_ that,” Thorin growled back.

“Yes, well, tell that to my _nightmares._ ”

(It was Tauriel who suggested using Thranduil as a prime target for sales of the _Dragon Fire_ line. There was much discussion on how best to approach him, but in the end Kíli came up with the highly successful plan of replacing Thorin’s customary Wind Essence with Dragon Fire and dumping him in the Mirkwood. One look at the fierce king of the Dwarves, shimmering in the murky light like a majestic flame, filled Thranduil with such jealousy that he immediately ordered four cases. From there, word of mouth handled everything for them. Thorin never used it again, himself, having enough majesty with the assistance of his own charismatic collection of glares and Wind Essence. Not to mention he had no interest in looking like, “that overbearing old windbag, glitter or no!”)

The company name was changed to _The Essence Line of Superior Hair Products (and Affiliates)_ when it was discovered that Nori had been in secret conference with the wizards concerning a specialized line of water-based lubricants. Fíli was angry at first, until he was gifted a sample, and then the tastefully designed _Passion Play_ line was sent out on a trial basis. The bottles flew off the shelves, and an entire work-cavern was re-purposed for its creation and distribution.

It took ten years to get the mines up and running at near-full capacity. In the meantime, Fíli and his company successfully increased the treasury by a full third while simultaneously restoring the mountain and assisting in the rebuilding of Dale (“No one wants to come visit the mountain and stay in _Lake-Town_ , Uncle,” Fíli argued when Thorin tried to kick up a fuss at helping the Men. “And we don’t want the mountain itself full of Men and Elves.” At the mention of elves in his precious mountain, the king calmed down.), improving relations with the elves through distribution, and reestablishing Erebor as the mightiest dwarf kingdom of Middle Earth.

And all this was accomplished under the watchful eyes of Fíli, the Golden Prince, and Kíli, his, ah secretary (and Future Consort and Heir and several other titles, but somewhere along the way he became The Secretary. Kíli blamed it on Lord Elrond, who used the elvish word to describe Linder in front of Essence representatives delivering to the distributers in Rivendell). 

**Epilogue 2: The Princes**

As dwarves entered the mountain, nervous about a dragon but willing to chance him with such a lucrative business opportunity in the works, Thorin was crowned King of the Dwarves of Erebor (only referred to as “King Under the Mountain” when out of Smaug’s earshot), while Smaug declared himself “King of Essence.” They both selected Fíli as Crown Prince (“Which,” Fíli pointed out to Kíli, his future Crown Prince and Consort of the Dwarves of Erebor Under the Mountain and Co-Founder of the Essence Line of Superior Hair Products, “will simplify things in a hundred years or so.”).

On their twenty-third wedding anniversary (celebrated with style by a great feast and tiny samples of various dwarf-driven items from the Essence line), Kíli declared that he was done making appointments to get Fíli away from Smaug so they could have sex without having a dragon nudge at the door asking if they were “quite done yet.” 

“He’s still a giant, fire-breathing beast,” Fíli argued. “How do you plan to stop him?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” Kíli promised, and disappeared in conference with Smaug for over four hours the next time their dragon received a letter from his sister, Pryftain.

No one was more surprised than Fíli to find Smaug outside and ready to travel three days later.

“Pryftain is threatening to take over Moria,” Smaug said, nuzzling fondly and incessantly at a somewhat frazzled and sex-starved Fíli as he spoke, “which the Kíli tells me would make her have a larger hoard than mine. Naturally I can’t allow this to happen.” His look was apologetic as he snuffled at Fíli’s hair (still the most gorgeous head in Erebor, no competition, his personalized Essence line was a careful combination of the effects of Wind and Stone Essence, and the products were not available outside the royal family). “Orcs taste much better than they look. But you must promise to come to me when I’ve cleaned it out for you.”

“…Come to Moria?” Fíli asked.

Smaug nodded.

Fíli glanced at Kíli, who grinned smugly back.

“How long do you think it will take?”

“No more than a hundred years.” Smaug huffed. “There is a _balrog_ , they are so _tiresome_ , but this is a matter of _honor_.”

And so Smaug went on a journey to retake the Mines of Moria.

“…You forged a letter from his sister,” Fíli said later that night, when he was very pleasantly achey in all the right places and righteously exhausted from activities uninterrupted by a curious and faintly disgusted dragon.

Kíli smirked and rolled on top of him again.

**Epilogue 3: The Essence Line of Superior Hair Products (And Affiliations)**

**_Stone Essence,_** for volume, body, and control in the depths of the mines or covered with the blood of your enemies, comes in a variety of mountain-themed scents including Warrior Musk, Hot Metal, Forge Fresh, Clashing Swords, and the new Mountain Stream. Works excellently with braids. (preferred Essence of Fíli, Prince Under the Mountain)

 ** _Forest Essence,_** for straight, shining locks whether playing the flute or ridding the plains of orcs and wargs, comes in a variety of flower-themed scents including Rivendell Rose, Lorien Lilac, and Greenwood Gardenia. (preferred Essence of the wise Lord Elrond of Rivendell)

 ** _Green Essence,_** for sleek, manageable hair that is equally fetching at a formal dinner or fending off giant spiders, comes in a variety of woods-themed scents such as Evergreen Archers, Sandalwood, Babbling Brook, and Warm Wine (preferred Essence of the fierce Tauriel, Captain of the Guard and confidante of Prince Legolas Greenleaf)

 ** _Wind Essence,_** for the extra lift and flutter needed for true majesty, comes in the popular Summer Breeze, Swirling Smoke, and Cotton Cloud scents (preferred essence of King Thorin, Majestic King of the Dwarves of Erebor)

 ** _Shire Essence,_** for thick, shining curls perfect for a sunny day at market or cuddling by the fire, comes in a delicious array of scents including Apple Pie, Blueberry Crumble, Cherry Tart, and Citrus Meringue. (preferred Essence of Bilbo Baggins, Savior of Erebor and Gentlehobbit of the Shire)

 ** _Quest Essence,_** for the hair-conscious traveler, Quest Essence has a built in conditioner. It’s an all-in-one solution for the modern wanderer who doesn’t want to make compromises, even on the road. Scents are taken from our traditional lines. (preferred Essence of Aragorn, Ranger of the West)

 ** _Dragon Fire,_** our latest line, combines the gravity-defying magic of Wind Essence with a hint of Arkenstone dust, granting majesty and shine in even the darkest of places . It comes in a variety of scents for the discerning customer, including Warm Flame, Sunflower, and Hot Cinnamon (preferred Essence of Thranduil, King of the Greenwood)

 ** _Passion Play_** , a discrete line of water-based oils for use alone or with another, comes in basic and flavored varieties. For more information or to become a distributer contact **Nori** , Kingdom of Erebor, via raven post. 

**Epilogue 4: The War of the Ring**

It never happened.

With the loss of funds from the _The Essence Line of Superior Hair Products (and Affiliates)_ Saruman’s plan for an army of orcs fell apart due to lack of cold, hard gold.

Which meant, when it was discovered that the Shire Essence distributor was carting around a cursed ring, a full contingent of dwarves was sent forth to escort Bilbo to Mount Doom, with little resistance from any dark lords, where the ring was summarily disposed of. 

Bilbo was returned home without so much as a blister.

(This somewhat to his chagrin, as they insisted on carrying him the entire way; he complained vociferously about being treated “like a particularly heavy traveling pack.” By the time they reached the mountain he was thrilled to toss in the blasted ring, just to get his feet back on the ground where they belonged.)

(It is a given that the dwarves looked absolutely fabulous the whole trip.)

(Of course.)

**Epilogue 5: The Dragon**

Smaug, it turned out, really hit it off with the Balrog.

They had a great deal in common, sharing an interest in stolen kingdoms and eating orcs, but also complimented each other, as the Balrog was more interested in the stolen kingdom itself and Smaug more invested in maintaining a hoard. They didn’t step on each other’s toes.

One dwarven kingdom was a bit small for the both of them, however.

So when Mount Doom became available, thanks to the actions of the dwarves (led, of course, by the recently crowned Fíli, king of the Dwarves of Etc., still Smaug’s favorite collectible whom he visited on an annual basis), the pair decided to resettle there. 

(There are always difficulties when settling into a new home, and for the monstrous roommates it was an argument over chores that nearly brought them to blows. Smaug finally asked Fíli to draw up an elaborate chore chart during the dragon’s annual visit to Erebor, which Fíli did agreeably enough. This failed to solve the problem however, as Balrog grew angry because he wasn’t there for input, and finally Smaug had to bring Fili back to Mount Doom just to make a revised chart with input from both roommates. Kíli, left behind to run the mountain in Fíli’s one-week absence, was extremely nervous the entire time, but upon his return Fili just reported, “It was a little like being in the sauna for six days with a pair of giant ten-year-olds.”)

(Smaug did take the entire treasury of Moria with him, but Balin and Ori moved in and got the mithril mines up and running within ten years – experience from the rebuilding of Erebor a plus – so it was rebuilt and bringing in revenue soon enough.)  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the proof of Wind Essence, posted on my tumblr with the rough draft:  
> 
> 
> And at this link you will find links to other ridiculous Stone Essence related items, including a beautiful series of posters designed for the Essence Line of Superior Hair Products:
> 
>  
> 
> [ Stone Essence Master post](http://dragonsquill.tumblr.com/stoneessence)

**Author's Note:**

> [Blanket Permission Statement](http://dragonsquill.tumblr.com/permission)


End file.
